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MEMOIRS 


WILLIAM  WOUDSWORTH. 


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MEMOIES 


OF 


WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH, 

POET-LAUBEATE,  D.C.L. 

1^ 


BT 

CHRISTOPHER  WORDSWORTH,  D.D. 

.    CANON  OF  WE8TMIN8TEB. 

IN  TWO  TOIiUMES. 

EDITED  BY  HENRY  REED. 
VOL.  I. 


BOSTON: 
TICKNOR,   REED,   AND    FIELDS. 

MDCCCLI. 

jrN\-T»  •  Digitized  by  GoOglC 


Entered  aocortUng  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1851,  by 

TICKNOR,   REED,   AMD  FIELDS, 

In  the  aerk's  Office  of  the  District  Goort  of  the  District  of  Massachiuetts. 


28719 


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ADVERTISEMENT 

TO    THE    AMERICAN    EDITION. 


When  the  ^Memoirs  op  William  Wordsworth'  were 
in  course  of  preparation  in  England,  I  was  led  to  suppose 
that  they  would  be  reprinted  in  America.  An  earnest 
desire  was  felt  by  the  friends  of  Mr.  Wordsworth  in  his 
own  country,  that  the  American  re-impression  should  be 
ushered  into  the  world  under  the  editorial  superintendence 
of  a  person,  who  united  affectionate  veneration  for  the  Poet 
with  intelligent  appreciation  of  his  Poetry.  Such  being 
the  case,  I  befieve  that  I  am  giving  utterance  to  their  sen- 
timents, as  well  as  my  own,  when  I  express  much  gratifi- 
cation that,  in  compliance  with  my  desire,  the  '  Memoirs 
of  Wordsworth'  are  introduced  to  the  notice  of  his 
numerous  readers  in  America,  by  a  zealous  friend  of 
Mr.  Wordsworth,  and  the  skilful  Editor  of  his  Works, 
Professor  Hbnrt  Reed. 


CHB.  WORDSWORTH. 


CloiOerSf  Westminster  Abbey  f 
April  26,  1851. 


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NOTE 

BY   THE  AMERICAN  EDITOR. 


In  fulfilling  the  duty  with  which  I  have  been  charged 
by  the  friendly  confidence  of  the  Author,  and  of  the 
Wordsworth  family,  my  chief  aim  has  been  cujcuracy  of 
reprint  in  this  edition.  Careful  correction  of  the  proof 
sheets  enables  me  to  give  ample  assurance  in  this  par- 
ticular. 

I  have  also  introduced  some  editorial  notes,  prepared, 
in  part  from  materials  in  my  possession,  and  in  part  from 
other  authorities,  with  the  hope  that  the  annotation  may 
in  some  degree  further  illustrate  the  subject  of  the  '  Me- 
moirs,' without  encumbering  the  text,  or  being  mistaken 
for  the  Author's  own  notes. 

The  numerous  references  to  Wordsworth's  Poems, 
which  occur  in  these  volumes,  are  to  one  of  the  London 
editions  of  the  '  Poetical  Works.'  I  have  not  thought  it 
worth  while  to  accompany  these  with  references  to  an  * 
American  edition,  because  in  the  edition  of  '  The  Com- 
plete Poetical  Works  of  Wordsworth,'  published  this  year 
-*♦  Philadelphia,  there  may  be  found  a  classified  table  of 

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ym  NOTE. 

contents,  a  general  index,  and  an  index  of  first  lines,  — 
which  together  make  it  easy  to  refer  in  several  ways  to 
any  poem. 

It  only  remains  to  acknowledge  for  myself  and  the  pub- 
lishers the  courtesy  with  which  Mr.  Moxon,  the  London 
publisher  of  the  ^  Memoirs,^  has  given  facilities  for  carry- 
ing  into  effect  Dr.  Wordsworth's  wishes  respecting  the 
republication  of  the  work  in  the  United  States. 

H.  R. 

FkOadilpkiaf  May  13,  1851. 


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PREFACE. 


Thb  design  of  the  present  work  being  described  in  the 
Introductory  Chapter,  I  have  here  only  to  discharge  the 
agreeable  duty  of  tendering  my  acknowledgments  to 
those  persons  who  have  honoured  mo  with  their  friendly 
aid  in  its  composition.  My  revered  and  beloved  aunt,  and 
the  other  members  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  family,  and  his 
executors,^  will,  I  trust,  accept  my  best  thanks  for  the 
readiness  with  which  they  have  complied  with  his  wishes, 
in  affording  me  free  access  to  his  papers*  I  have  also  to 
express  xity  thankfulness  for  the  unreserved  kindness  with 
which  the  valuable  manuscript,  mentioned  in  page  21 ,  has 
been  communicated  for  my  use.  To  the  writer  of  that 
MS.,  and  to  its  present  possessor,  Edward  Quillinan, 
Esq.,  Mr.  Wordsworth's  son-in-law,  my  special  thanks  are 
due,  not  only  for  their  services  in  this  respect,  but  for 


>  The  executors  are  Mr.  W.  Strickland  Cooeson,  of  Lincoln's 
Inn  J  Mr.  W.  Wokdswobth,  of  Carlisle  j  and  Mr.  John  Cartes, 
of  Bydal. 


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X  FEEFACE. 

much  valuable  assistance  rendered  in  tlie  revision  of  the 
proof-sheets  of  these  volumes  as  they  passed  through  the 
press. 

The  obligations  under  which  I  am  to  the  following  pa]> 
ties,  will  appear  from  the  work  itself ;  but  I  hope  that  I 
may  be  permitted  to  record  their  names. 

I  have,  therefore,  to  offer  my  respectful  acknowledg- 
ments to  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale  ;  Lady  Frederick  Ben- 
TiNCK ;  Sir  G.  H.  Beaumont,  Bart.,  of  Coleorton ;   Sir 
R.  Peel,  Bart.,  of  Drayton  Manor ;   the  Hon.  Mr.  Jus- 
tice Coleridge  ;  Lady  Richaedson,  and  Mrs.  Davy,  of 
Ambleside ;   Lieut.  General  Sir  William   Gomm,   Com- 
mander-in-Chief in  India ;  Major-General  Sir  C.  W.  Pas- 
ley,  K.  C.  B. ;  Sir  William  Rowan  Hamilton,  Observa- 
tory, Dublin  ;  Rev.  Henry  Alford,  of  Wymeswold,  near 
Loughborough;  Miss  Lucy  Barton,  of  Keswick  Hall, 
near  Norwich ;  Joseph  Cottle,  Esq.,  of  Firfieid  House, 
near  Bristol;    Rev.   Alexander  Dyce,  of  Gray's  Inn 
Square ;  George  Huntly  Gordon,  Esq.,  of  H.  M.  Sta- 
tionery Office ;  Rev.  R.  P.  Graves,  Windermere ;  Rev. 
Dr.  Jackson,  of  Lowther ;  Rev.  John  Keble,  Author  of 
the  'Christian  Year;'   Mrs.   Mathews,  of  Brompton; 
Rev.  Robert  Montgomery  ;  Edward  Moxon,  Esq.,  of 
Dover  Street ;  Rev.  T.  Bc^tles  Murray  ;  Basil  Montagu, 
Esq.;    Rev.   J.    K.   Miller,    of    Walkeringham,    near 
Gainsborough  ;  John  Peace,  Esq.,  of  the  City  Library, 
Bristol ;  Henry  Reed,  Esq.,  of  Philadelphia  ;  H.  C.  Rob- 
inson, Esq.,  of  Russell  Square,  Mr.  Wordsworth's  com- 
panion in  Switzerland  and  Italy  ;  Mrs.  Hugh  James  Rose, 

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PEEFACB.  XI 

of  Brighton ;  the  Rev.  C.  C.  Southet  ;  the  Rev.  Geoegb 
W.  Weangham,  of  Thorpe  Basset. 

Other  persons  who  have  favoured  the  author  with  their 
assistance,  and  who  may  not  be  enumerated  here,  will,  he 
hopes,  accept  the  general  expression  of  his  sincere  grati- 
tude and  regard. 

AffH,  1851. 


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CONTENTS 


I  OF   THE   FIRST   VOLUME. 


Introductory  Chapter Page  1 

CHJIPTEB  IL 

Autobiographical  Memoranda  dictated  by  William  Words- 
worth, P.  L.,  at  Rydal  Momit,  November,  1847    .        .7 

L  CHAPTER  m.  ' 

Rydal  Mount •        .        .      18 

I  CHAPTER  IV. 

I         Birth  and  Parentage  of  William  Wordsworth  .        •      99 

^  CHAPTER  V. 

)         School-time  .        •        •      , 36 

I  CHAPTER  VI. 

'  CoUegeLifb  45 

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Xiv  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  Vn. 
College  Vacations  ..••*•     Page  53 

CHAPTBE  Vm. 
He^dence  in  France       • 70 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Feelings  and  Opinions  on  retaining  from  France  to  Eng- 
land. —  Choice  of  Profession 78 

CHAPTER  X. 
Racedown 04 

CHAPTER  XL 
A|foxden 103 

CHAPTER  Xn. 
The  Tragedy .        .115 

CHAPTER  Xm. 
The 'Lyrical  Ballads'  .        .        .        .        .        .123 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Residence  in  Germany  130 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Retam  towards  England.  —  Commencement  of  <  The 
Prelude.' 143 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Settlement  at  Grasmere  .        .        .        .        •        .    147 

CHAPTER  XVn. 
Second  Volume  of  *  Lyrical  Ballads'       .        .        .        .150 

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CQVTKXTB.  XT 

CHAPTEE  XVra. 
RaBidenoe  at  GraBxnere.  —  Short  Visit  to  France      .    Page  178 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
Marriage 203 

CHAPTER  XX. 
Tour  in  Scotland  209 

^  CHAPTER  XXI. 

Sir  George  H.  Beaumont,  Bart 258 

CHAPTER  XXH. 

Captain  Wordsworth 280 

♦ 

I  CHAPTER  XXni. 

!   Continuation  of  *  The  Prelude,  or  Growth  of  a  Poet's 

j       Mind'         .        .        .        • 302 

CHAPTER  XXrV. 
Other  Poems  written  in  1805  and  1806     •        .        .        «    314 

1  CHAPTER  XXV. 

*  Poems  in  Two  Volumes,'  published  in  1807.    Unpopu- 

larity   326 

I 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Mr.  Wordsworth  at  Coleorton 344 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
His  Children 367 

CHAPTER  XXVin. 

*  Convention  of  Cintra' 381 


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Xn  C0KTBNT8* 

CHAPTER  JXLX. 
AdTioe  to  the  Young Page  431 

CHAPTER  XXX. 
Eaaay  on  Epitaphs 439 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Beacription  of  the  Scenery  of  the  Lakes.  —  Sonnets  and 
Letters  on  the  projected  Windermere  Railway      •        .414 

Apfindix •        .        .        .    457 


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MEMOIES 


WILLIAM  WOEDSWORTH. 


INTRODUCTORY  CHAPTER. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  1847,  when  the  author  of 
this  Memoir  was  on  a  visit  at  Rydal  Mount,  the  conversa- 
tion turned  on  the  Biography  of  departed  poets  —  a 
subject  which  has  been  handled  by  Mr.  Wordsworth  in 
his  Letter  to  a  Friend  of  Robert  Bums,  published  in  the 
year  1816.  ^ 

It  was  to  be  expected  that  this  topic  would  not  be  dis- 
missed without  some  reference  to  himself.  Whether  any 
and  —  if  any  —  what  kind  of  memorial  shoftld  be  given 
to  the  world  of  his  life  —  this  was  a,  question  which  oAen 
presented  itself  to  tne  mind  of  his  nearest  friends,  as 
doubtless  it  did  to  his  own. 

On  that  occasion,  as  on  many  others,  he  expressed  an 
opinion,  that  a  poet^s  Life  is  written  in  his  works  ;  and 
this  is  undoubtedly  true,  in  a  remarkable  manner,  in  his 
own  particular  case. 

^  London,  Longmans,  pp.  37.  It  is  dated  Rydal  Mount,  January, 
1816. 

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2  INTROBUCTOBY  CHAFTBK. 

His  life  had  not  been  a  stirring  one.  It  had  been 
passed,  for  the  most  part,  amid  natural  scenes  of  quiet 
beauty ;  and  what  Horace  has  said  of  the  poet  Lucilius 
was  very  applicable  to  him.  He  confided  his  secrets  to 
his  lyre  ^ ;  to  it  he  communicated  his  feelings  and  his 
thoughts  on  every  occasion  of  interest,  public  and  private ; 
and  hence  his  Life  is  written  in  his  Works. 

Nor  is  this  all.  One  Poem,  especially  —  that  which 
has  been  given  to  the  world  subsequently  to  his  death 
—  the  Prelude,  —  is  designed  to  exhibit  the  growth  of  his 
mind  from  his  infancy  to  the  year  1799,  when,  if  we  may 
80  speak,  he  entered  upon  his  mission  and  ministry,  and 
deliberately  resolved  to  devote  his  time  and  faculties  to 
the  art  and  office  of  a  poet. 

His  Works,  therefore,  are  his  Life.  And  it  would  be  a 
superfluous  and  presumptuous  enterprise  to  encroach  upon 
this  their  province,  and  to  invade  the  biographical  emi- 
nence on  which  his  Poems  stand.  Let  them  retain  their 
supremacy  in  this  respect;  and  let  no  other  Life  of 
Wordsworth  be  composed  beside  what  has  thus  been 
written  with  his  own  hand. 

This  being  borne  in  mind,  it  ensues  as  a  matter  of 
course,  that  the  present  Work  does  not  claim  for  itself  the 
title  of  a  Life  of  Wordsworth.  Nor,  again,  does  it  profess 
to  offer  a  critical  review  of  his  Poems ;  or  to  supply  an 
elaborate  exposition  of  the  principles  on  which  those 
Poems  were  composed.     Mr.  Wordsworth  had  no  desire 

*  '  Hie  Ye\nt  fidis  arcana  sodalibus  olim 

Credebat  libris  ;  neque,  si  mal^  cesserat,  usquam 
Decorrens  ali6,  neque  si  ben^ ;  quo  fit  at  omnis 
VotlvA  pateat  veluti  descripta  tabeM 
Vita  seals.' 

HoRAT.  Satir.  11.  i.  30. 

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INTROBUGTORT  GHAPTSl.  8 

tbat  any  such  disquisition  should  be  written.  He  wished 
that  his  Poems  should  stand  by  themselves,  and  plead 
their  own  cause  before  the  tribunal  of  Posterity. 

The  character  of  the  present  work  is  a  humbler  one. 
Begarding  the  Poems  as  his  Life,  the  author  of  these 
volumes  considers  it  to  be  his  duty  to  endeavour  to  supply 
materials,  subordinate  and  ministerial  to  the  Poems,  and 
illustrative  of  them ;  in  a  word,  to  write  a  biographical 
commentary  on  the  Poet's  works. 

This,  the  writer  believes,  is  no  unimportant  task,  for 
the  following  reasons  :  — 

First,  Mr.  Wordsworth's  Poems  are  no  visionary  dreams, 
but  practical  realities.  He  wrote  as  he  lived,  and  he  lived 
as  he  wrote.  His  poetry  had  its  heart  in  his  life,  and  his 
life  found  a  voice  in  his  poetry.^ 

It  is  very  necessary  that  Posterity  should  be  assured  of 
this,  in  order  that  it  may  have  a  firmer  faith  in  his  princi- 
ples. And  no  such  guarantee  can  be  given  of  his  sincerity 
in  enunciating  those  principles,  and  no  such  evidence  can 

*  The  following  is  the  testimony  of  one  who  had  the  best  oppor- 
tunities and  qualifications  for  judging  on  this  subject.  Mr.  Southey, 
writing  to  his  friend  Bernard  Barton  from  Keswick,  Dec.  19, 1814, 
thus  speaks :  — '  Wordsworth's  residence  and  mine  are  fifteen 
miles  asunder ;  a  sufficient  distance  to  preclude  any  frequent  in- 
terchange of  visits.  I  have  known  him  nearly  twenty  years,  and, 
for  about  half  that  time,  intimately.  The  strength  and  the  char- 
acter of  his  mind  you  see  in  the  Excursion  ;  and  his  lAft  does 
not  hdie  his  Writings  ;  for,  in  every  relation  of  life,  and  every  point 
of  tnew,  he  is  a  truly  exemplary  and  admirable  man.  In  con- 
versation he  is  powerful  beyond  any  of  his  contemporaries ;  and, 
as  a  poet — I  speak  not  from  the  partiality  of  friendship,  nor 
because  we  have  been  so  absurdly  held  up  as  both  writing  upon 
one  concerted  system  of  poetry,  but  with  the  most  deliberate 
exercise  of  impartial  judgment  whereof  I  am  capable,  when  I 
declare  my  full  conviction  that  Posterity  wiU  rank  him  with 
Milton.' -^SoOTHST^s  Life  and  Correspondence,  \v,  91. 

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4  XNTEODUCTOIT  CHAFTSl. 

be  afTorded  of  their  results,  as  is  supplied  by  the  records 
of  his  life. 

Besides ;  it  is  obvious  to  the  most  cursory  reader  of  his 
works,  that  they  are  in  a  great  measure  derived  from 
materials  personal  to  himself.  His  writings  have  in  a 
remarkable  degree  a  subjective  character.  The  scenes  in 
which  he  lived,  the  incidents  of  his  own  life  and  of  his 
friends,  supplied  topics  for  his  genius  to  elaborate.  Hence 
it  is  evident  that  many  of  his  poems  will  be  very  obscure 
to  those  persons  who  are  not  acquainted  with  the  circum- 
stances of  his  life,  and  they  will  be  perused  with  greater 
pleasure  and  profit  by  all  who  are  conversant  with  his 
history. 

Next  it  may  be  affirmed,  that  his  poems  to  be  studied 
profitably  should  be  read  chronologically.  Dr.  Bentley  ^ 
has  well  observed  of  Horace,  that  no  one  can  form  a 
right  estimate  of  his  moral  character,  who  does  not  pay 
careful  attention  to  the  periods  in  which  that  poet^s  works 
were  respectively  composed. 

'Lenior  et  melior  fis  accedeDte  senecta? '  ^ 

'  Dost  thou  become  more  sage, 
Milder  and  mellower,  with  declining  age  ? ' 

was  a  question  which  Horace  habitually  asked  himself,  as 
his  works  show.  And  so  it  was  with  Wordsworth.  It  is 
true,  '  the  child  was  father  of  the  man,'  3  and  there  is 
a  continuous  stream  of  identity  flowing  from  his  earliest 

^  Frsefat.  in  Horatii  Opera^  ed.  Amst.,  1728. 
s  Horat.  £p.  ii.  2.  adfai, 
8  Vol.  1.  p.  147. 

*  The  childhood  shows  the  man 
As  morning  shows  the  day.' 

Far.  Beg,  iv.  220. 

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ZNTRoiyircTOiT  CHArrn*  o 

to  his  latest  poems.  But  the  progrets  of  the  stream 
brought  with  it  a  certain  change.  A  greater  fulness  and 
depth,  a  stronger  and  steadier  current  was  the  result  Or, 
to  use  another  illustration,  —  time,  experience,  foreign 
travel,  domestic  affliction,  even  the  severity  and  harsh 
treatment  which  he  received  from  some  of  his  critics,  all 
these  imparted  a  soft  and  mellow  tone  to  his  mind,  as  the 
winds  and  rains  of  autumn  do  to  his  own  woods  and 
rocks.  Hence  there  was  a  gradual  development,  a  more 
definite  delineation,  a  brighter  and  more  heavenly  colour^ 
ing  in  certain  parts  of  his  system,  as  he  advanced  in 
years,  and  drew  nearer  to  the  close  of  his  career. 

Hence  also  it  is  clear,  that  it  is  very  unjust  and  erro^ 
neous  to  cite  any  one  poem,  or  a  few  lines,  composed  in 
his  earlier  years,  as  a  deliberate  expression  of  his  maturer 
judgment.  His  Works  must  be  taken  as  a  whole.  They 
must  be  read  with  habitual  reference  to  the  time  in  which 
they  were  composed.  And  in  order  that  this  may  be  done 
with  ease,  a  biographical  manual,  designed  to  illustrate 
the  poems,  ought  to  exist ;  and  this  is  what  the  present 
publication  proposes  to  supply. 

For  himself,  let  the  writer  of  these  Memoirs  be  now 
permitted  to  avow,  that  he  would  not,  of  his  own  accord, 
have  ventured  on  this  task.  Different  duties,  of  a  profes- 
sional nature,  were  pressing  upon  him,  which  lefl  him 
little  leisure  for  other  occupations.  But  a  choice  did  not 
seem  to  be  open  to  him.  His  revered  Uncle,  on  the  occa- 
sion to  which  allusion  has  already  been  made,  was  pleased 
to  express  a  desire,  and  to  commit  that  expression  of  his 
desire  to  writing,  that  he  would  prepare  for  publication 
any  personal  notices  that  might  be  thought  requisite  for 
the  illustration  of  his  Poems ;  and  he  afterwards  dictated 
another  document,  intimating  his  hope  that  his  surviving 

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6^  INTRODUCTOEY  CBAPTXK; 

relatives  and  intimate  friends  would  supply  any  materials 
in  their  possession  that  might  be  regarded  as  serviceable 
for  this  design. 

He  could  not,  therefore,  decline  it ;  and  having  under- 
taken it,  he  can  now  only  express  a  hope,  that  the  subject 
may  not  have  suffered  by  being  committed  to  his  hands. 
Having  engaged  to  perform  the  labour  assigned  to  him, 
he  requested  Jfr.  Wordsworth  to  favour  him  with  a  brief 
sketch  of  the  most  prominent  circumstances  in  his  life. 
Accordingly  he  did  so.  On  the  occasion  of  the  same 
visit  he  dictated  the  autobiographical  notes,  which  will  be 
inserted  in  the  next  chapter.  They  may  serve  to  present 
an  outline  or  general  view  of  this  work,  like  the  first  map 
in  an  atlas,  to  be  followed  in  order  by  special  charts,  with 
minuter  details,  and  on  a  larger  scale. 


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CHAPTER   II. 

AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL    MEMORANDA    DICTATED    BT    WILLIAM 
WORDSWORTH,  P.  L.,  AT  RYDAL  MOUNT,  NOVEMBER,  1847. 

I  WAS  bom  at  Cockermouth,  in  Cumberland,  on  April  7th, 
1770,  the  second  son  of  John  Wordsworth,  attomey-at- 
law,  as  lawyers  of  this  class  were  then  called,  and  law- 
agent  to  Sir  James  Lowther,  afterwards  Earl  of  Lonsdale. 
My  mother  was  Anne,  only  daughter  of  William  Cookson, 
mercer,  of  Penrith,  and  of  Dorothy,  bom  Crackanthorp, 
of  the  ancient  family  of  that  name,  who  from  the  times 
of  Edward  the  Third  had  lived  in  Newbiggen  Hall,  West- 
moreland. My  grandfather  was  the  first  of  the  name  of 
Wordsworth  who  came  into  Westmoreland,  where  he 
purchased  the  small  estate  of  Sockbridge.  He  was  de- 
scended from  a  family  who  had  been  settled  at  Peniston 
in  Yorkshire,  near  the  sources  of  the  Don,  probably 
before  the  Norman  Conquest.  Their  names  appear  on 
different  occasions  in  all  the  transactions,  personal  and 
public,  connected  with  that  parish  ;  and  I  possess,  through 
the  kindness  of  Col.  Beaumont,  an  almery  made  in  1525, 
at  the  expense  of  a  William  Wordsworth,  as  is  expressed 
in  a  Latin  inscription  *  carved  upon  it,  which  carries  the 

^  The  original  is  as  foUowSi  some  of  the  abbreviations  being  ex- 
panded: 'Hoc  OPUS  FIEBAT  ANNO  DOMINI  MCCCCGXXV  KX  SCMPTV 
WlLLELMI  WoBDKSWORTH  FILII  W.  FIL.  JoH.  riL.  W.  PIL.  KXCH. 

yiBi  Elizabetb  fili^  it  hebedis  W.  Froctob  db  Pebystom 

^VOBVM  ANIMABU8  PBOPITIBTUB  DXUS.' 

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8  ATTTOBIOGSAPHICAL  MEMOEANDA. 

pedigree  of  the  family  back  four  generations  from  him- 
self. 

The  time  of  my  infancy  and  early  boyhood  was  passed 
partly  at  Cockermouth,  and  partly  with  my  mother's 
parents  at  Penrith,  where  my  mother,  in  the  year  1778, 
died  of  a  decline,  brought  on  by  a  cold,  the  consequence 
of  being  put,  at  a  friend's  house  in  London,  in  what  used 
to  be  called  *  a  best  bedroom.'  My  father  never  recovered 
his  usual  cheerfulness  of  mind  afler  this  loss,  and  died 
when  I  was  in  my  fourteenth  year,  a  schoolboy,  just 
returned  from  Hawkshead,  whither  I  had  been  sent  with 
my  elder  brother  Richard,  in  my  ninth  year. 

I  remember  my  mother  only  in  some  few  situations, 
one  of  which  was  her  pinning  a  nosegay  to  my  breast 
when  I  was  going  to  say  the  catechism  in  the  church,  as 
was  customary  before  Easter.^  I  remember  also  telling 
her  on  one  week  day  that  I  had  been  at  church,  for  our 
school  stood  in  the  churchyard,  and  we  had  frequent 
opportunities  of  seeing  what  was  going  on  there.  The 
occasion  was,  a  woman  doing  penance  in  the  church  in  a 
white  sheet  My  mother  commended  my  having  been 
present,  expressing  a  hope  that  I  should  remember  the 
circumstance  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  'But,'  said  I, 
'Mama,  they  did  not  give  me  a  penny,  as  I  had  been 
told  they  would.'     '  Oh,'  said  she,  recanting  her  praises, 


On  the  almery  are  carved  the  letters  <  I.  H.  SJ  and  '  M. ; '  also 
the  emblem  of  the  Holy  Trinity. 

For  further  information  concerning  this  oak  press,  see  Mr. 
Hunter's  paper  in  '  Gentleman's  Magazine '  for  July,  1850,  p.  43. 

1  See  Ecclesiastical  Sonnets,  Fart  iii.  Sonnet  xxii.  '  On  Cate- 
chising,' vol.  iv.  p.  110. 

Let  me  here  observe,  that  the  edition  of  Wordsworth's  Poems 
to  which  reference  will  be  made  in  the  following  Memoirs,  is  the 
last,  in  six  vols.  24mo.  1849-^0. 


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AVTOBIOGBAPHICAL  MBMOKANDA.  9 

*  if  that  was  your  motive,  you  were  very  properly  disap- 
pointed/ 

My  last  impression  was  having  a  glimpse  of  her  on 
passing  the  door  of  her  bedroom  during  her  last  illness, 
when  she  was  reclining  in  her  easy  chair.  An  intimate 
friend  of  hers,  Miss  Hamilton  by  name,  who  was  used  to 
visit  her  at  Cockermouth,  told  me  that. she  once  said  to 
her,  that  the  only  one  of  her  five  children  about  whose 
future  life  she  was  anxious,  was  William ;  and  he,  she 
said,  would  be  remarkable  either  for  good  or  for  evil. 
The  cause  of  this  was,  that  I  was  of  a  stiff,  moody,  and 
violent  temper ;  so  much  so  that  I  remember  going  once 
into  the  attics  of  my  grandfather's  house  at  Penrith,  upon 
some  indignity  having  been  put  upon  me,  with  an  inten- 
tion of  destroying  myself  with  one  of  the  foils  which  I 
knew  was  kept  there.  I  took  the  foil  in  hand,  but  my 
heart  failed.  Upon  another  occasion,  while  I  was  at  my 
grandfather's  house  at  Penrith,  along  with  my  eldest 
brother,  Richard,  we  were  whipping  tops  together  in  the 
large  drawing-room,  on  which  the  carpet  was  only  laid 
down  upon  particular  occasions.  The  walls  were  hung 
round  with  family  pictures,  and  I  said  to  my  brother, 

*  Dare  you  strike  your  whip  through  that  old  lady's  petti- 
coat ?  '  He  replied,  *  No,  I  won't.'  *  Then,'  said  I, '  here 
goes ; '  and  I  struck  my  lash  through  her  hooped  petticoat, 
for  which  no  doubt,  though  I  have  forgotten  it,  I  was 
properly  punished.  But  possibly,  from  some  want  of 
judgment  in  punishments  inflicted,  I  had  become  perverse 
and  obstinate  in  defying  chastisement,  and  rather  proud 
of  it  than  otherwise. 

Of  my  earliest  days  at  school  I  have  little  to  say,  but 
that  they  were  very  happy  ones,  chiefly  because  I  was 
left  at  liberty,  then  and  in  the  vacations,  to  read  whatever 
books  I  liked.     For  example,  I  read  all  Fielding's  works, 

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10  AnTOBIOaSA?HICAL  MBMOIANBA. 

Don  Quixote,  Gil  Bias,  and  any  part  of  Swift  that  I  liked ; 
Gulliver's  Travels,  and  the  Tale  of  the  Tub,  being  both 
much  to  my  taste.  I  was  very  much  indebted  to  <me  of 
the  ushers  of  Hawkshead  School,  by  name  Shaw,  who 
taught  me  more  of  Latin  in  a  fortnight  than  I  had  learnt 
during  two  preceding  years  at  the  school  of  Cockermouth, 
Unfortunately  for  me  this  excellent  master  left  our  school, 
and  went  to  Stafford,  where  he  taught  for  many  years.  It 
may  be  perhaps  as  well  to  mention,  that  the  first  verses 
which  I  wrote  were  a  task  imposed  by  my  master ;  the 
subject,  *  The  Summer  Vacation ; '  and  of  my  own  accord 
I  added  others  upon  *  Return  to  School.'  There  was  no- 
thing remarkable  in  either  poem  ;  but  I  was  called  upon, 
among  other  scholars,  to  write  verses  upon  the  completion 
of  the  second  centenary  from  the  foundation  of  the  school 
in  1585,  by  Archbishop  Sandys.    These  verses  ^  were 

'  Lines  written  by  William  Wordsworth  as  a  School  Exercise 
at  Hawkshead,  anno  setatis  14.  (Such  is  the  title,  but  he  must 
have  been  at  least  in  his  fifteenth  year,  if  the  year  of  the  founda- 
tion is  stated  correctly.) 

'  And  has  the  San  his  flaming  chariot  driven 

Two  hundred  times  around  the  ring  of  heaven. 

Since  Science  first,  with  all  her  sacred  train, 

Beneath  yon  roof  began  her  heavenly  reign  ? 

While  thus  I  mused,  methought,  before  mine  eyes, 

The  Power  of  Education  seemed  to  rise ; 

Not  she  whose  rigid  precepts  trained  the  boy 

Dead  to  the  sense  of  every  finer  joy ; 

Nor  that  vile  wretch  who  bade  the  tender  age 

Spurn  Reason's  law  and  humour  Passion's  rage ; 

But  she  who  trains  the  generous  British  youth 

In  the  bright  paths  of  fair  majestic  Truth : 

Emerging  slow  from  Academus'  grove 

In  heavenly  majesty  she  seem'd  to  move. 

Stern  was  her  forehead,  but  a  smile  serene 

"  Softened  the  terrors  of  her  awful  mien." 

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AITT0BI06RAFHICAL   MEMOBANDA.  11 

much  admired,  far  more  than  they  deserved,  for  they 
were  but  a  tame  imitation  of  Pope^s  versification,  and  a 

Close  at  her  side  were  all  the  powers,  designed 

To  curb,  exalt,  refonn  the  tender  mind  : 

"With  panting  breast,  now  pale  as  winter  snows, 

Now  flushed  as  Hebe,  Emulation  rose  ; 

Shame  followed  after  with  reverted  eye, 

And  hue  far  deeper  than  the  Tyrian  dye ; 

Last  Industry  appeared  with  steady  pace, 

A  smile  sat  beaming  on  her  pensive  face. 

I  gazed  upon  the  visionary  train. 

Threw  back  my  eyes,  returned,  and  gazed  again. 

When  lo !  the  heavenly  goddess  thus  began, 

Through  all  my  frame  the  pleasing  accents  ran. 

" '  When  Superstition  left  the  golden  light 
And  fled  indignant  to  the  shades  of  night ; 
When  pure  Religion  reared  the  peaceful  breast, 
And  lulPd  the  warring  passions  into  rest. 
Drove  far  away  the  savage  thoughts  that  roll 
In  the  dark  mansions  of  the  bigot's  soul, 
Enlivening  Hope  displayed  her  cheerful  ray, 
And  beam'd  on  Britain's  sons  a  brighter  day ; 
So  when  on  Ocean's  face  the  storm  subsides, 
Hush'd  are  the  winds  and  silent  are  the  tides ; 
The  God  of  day,  in  all  the  pomp  of  light. 
Moves  through  the  vault  of  heaven,  and  dissipates  the  night ; 
Wide  o'er  the  main  a  trembling  lustre  plays. 
The  glittering  waves  reflect  the  dazzling  blaze ; 
Science  with  joy  saw  Superstition  fly 
Before  the  lustre  of  Religion's  eye  ; 
With  rapture  she  beheld  Britannia  smile, 
Clapp'd  her  strong  wings,  and  sought  the  cheerful  isle. 
The  shades  of  night  no  more  the  soul  involve. 
She  sheds  her  beam,  and,  lo !  the  shades  dissolve  ; 
No  jarring  monks,  to  gloomy  cell  confined. 
With  mazy  rules  perplex  the  weary  mind  j 
No  shadowy  forms  entice  the  soul  aside. 
Secure  she  walks,  Philosophy  her  guide. 

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12  AXTTOBIOGRAPHICAL   MEMORANDA. 

little  in  his  style.     This  exercise,  however,  put  it  into  my 
head  to  compose  verses  from  the  impulse  of  my  own 

Britain,  who  long  her  warriors  had  adored, 

And  deem'd  all  merit  centred  in  the  sword ; 

Britain,  who  thought  to  stain  the  field  was  fame. 

Now  honoured  Edward's  less  than  Bacon's  name. 

Her  sons  no  more  in  listed  fields  advance 

To  ride  the  ring,  or  toss  the  beamy  lance ; 

No  longer  steel  their  indurated  hearts 

To  the  mild  influence  of  the  finer  arts  ; 

Quick  to  the  secret  grotto  they  retire 

To  court  majestic  truth,  or  wake  the  golden  lyre ; 

By  generous  Emulation  taught  to  rise. 

The  seats  of  learning  brave  the  distsmt  skies. 

Then  noble  Sandys,  inspir'd  with  great  design, 

Beared  Hawkshead's  happy  roof,  and  call'd*it  mine } 

There  have  I  loved  to  show  the  tender  age 

The  golden  precepts  of  the  classic  page ; 

To  lead  the  mind  to  those  Elysian  plains 

Where,  throned  in  gold,  immortal  Science  reigns ; 

Fair  lo  the  view  is  sacred  Truth  displayed, 

In  all  the  majesty  of  light  array'd. 

To  teach,  on  rapid  wings,  the  curious  soul 

To  roam  firom  heaven  to  heaven,  from  pole  to  pole, 

From  thence  to  search  the  mystic  cause  of  things, 

And  follow  Nature  to  her  secret  springs ; 

Nor  less  to  guide  the  fluctuating  youth 

Firm  in  the  sacred  paths  of  moral  truth, 

To  regulate  the  mind's  disordered  firame, 

And  quench  the  passions  kindling  into  flame ; 

The  glimmering  fires  of  Virtue  to  enlarge, 

And  purge  from  Vice's  dross  my  tender  charge. 

Oft  have  I  said,  the  paths  of  Fame  pursue, 

And  all  that  Virtue  dictates,  dare  to  do ; 

Go  to  the  world,  peruse  the  book  of  man, 

And  learn  from  thence  thy  own  defects  to  scan ; 

Severely  honest,  .break  no  plighted  trust. 

But  coldly  rest  not  here  —  be  more  than  just ; 


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AUTOBIOGBAPHICil.  MEMORANDA.  13 

mind,  and  I  wrote,  while  yet  a  schoolboy,  a  long  poem 
running  upon  my  own  adventures,  and  the  scenery  of  the 
country  in  which  I  was  brought  up.  The  only  part  of  that 
poem  which  has  been  preserved  is  the  conclusion  of  it, 
which  stands  at  the  beginning  of  my  collected  Poems.^ 

In  the  month  of  October,  1787, 1  was  sent  to  St.  John's 
College,  Cambridge,  of  which  my  uncle,  Dr.  Cookson, 
had  been  a  fellow.  The  master.  Dr.  Chevallier,  died  very 
soon  afler^;  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  that  time, 
his  body,  after  being  placed  in  the  coffin,  was  removed  to 

Join  to  the  rigoars  of  the  sires  of  Rome 
The  gentler  manners  of  the  private  dome ; 
When  Virtue  weeps  in  agony  of  woe, 
Teach  from  the  heart  the  tender  tear  to  flow ; 
If  Pleasure's  soothing  song  thy  soul  entice. 
Or  all  the  gaudy  pomp  of  splendid  Vice, 
Arise  superior  to  the  Siren's  power. 
The  wretch,  the  short-lived  vision  of  an  hour  j 
Soon  fades  her  cheek,  her  blushing  beauties  fly. 
As  fades  the  chequered  bow  that  paints  the  sky. 

So  shall  thy  sire,  whilst  hope  his  breast  inspires. 
And  wakes  anew  life's  glimmering  trembling  fires, 
Hear  Britain's  sons  rehearse  thy  praise  with  joy. 
Look  up  to  heaven,  and  bless  his  darling  boy. 
If  e'er  these  precepts  quell'd  the  passions'  strife, 
If  e'er  they  smooth'd  the  rugged  walks  of  life, 
If  e'er  they  pointed  forth  the  blissful  way 
That  guides  the  spirit  to  eternal  day. 
Do  thou,  if  gratitude  inspire  thy  breast. 
Spurn  the  soft  fetters  of  lethargic  rest. 
Awake,  awake !  and  snatch  the  slumbering  lyre. 
Let  this  bright  morn  and  Sandys  the  song  inspire." 

'  I  look'd  obedience  :  the  celestial  Fair 
Smiled  like  the  morn,  and  vanish'd  into  air.' 

» 'Dear  Native  Eegions,'  &c.,  vol.  i.  p.  1. 
«  He  was  succeeded  by  Dr.  Craven  in  1789. 


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14  AtTTOBIOGSAPaiCAL  UEMORANDiu 

the  hall  of  the  college,  and  the  pall,  spread  over  the 
coffin,  was  stuck  over  by  copies  of  verses,  English  or 
Latin,  the  composition  of  the  students  of  St.  John's.  My 
uncle  seemed  mortified  when  upon  inquiry  he  learnt  that 
none  of  these  verses  were  from  my  pen, '  because,'  said 
said  he,  ^  it  would  have  been  a  fair  opportunity  for  dis- 
tinguishmg  yourself  I  did  not,  however,  regret  that  I 
had  been  silent  on  this  occasion,  as  I  felt  no  interest  in 
the  deceased  person,  with  whom  I  had  had  no  intercourse, 
and  whom  I  had  never  seen  but  during  his  walks  in  the 
college  grounds. 

When  at  school,  I,  with  the  other  boys  of  the  same 
standing,  was  put  upon  reading  the  first  six  books  of 
Euclid,  with  the  exception  of  the  fiflh ;  and  also  in  alge- 
bra I  learnt  simple  and  /quadratic  equations ;  and  this  was 
for  me  unlucky,  because  I  had  a  full  twelve-month's  start 
of  the  freshmen  of  my  year,  and  accordingly  got  into 
rather  an  idle  way;  reading  nothing  but  classic  authors 
according  to  my  fancy,  and  Italian  poetry.  My  Italian 
master  was  named  Isola,*  and  had  been  well  acquainted 
with  Gray  the  poet.  As  I  took  to  these  studies  with  much 
interest,  he  was  proud  of  the  progress  I  made.  Under 
his  correction  I  translated  the  Vision  of  Mirza,  and  two  or 
three  other  papers  of  the  Spectator,  into  Italian.     In  the 


[*  He  is  thus  mentioned  in  the  biography  of  Lamb :  — '  Agos- 
tino  Isola  had  been  compelled  to  fly  from  Milan,  because  a  friend 
took  up  an  English  book  in  his  apartment,  which  he  had  carelessly 
left  in  view.  This  good  old  man  numbered  among  his  pupils, 
Gray  the  poet,  Mr.  Pitt,  and,  in  his  old  age,  Wordsworth,  whom 
he  instructed  in  the  Italian  language.'  Cambridge  was  his  resi- 
dence. His  granddaughter  was  adopted  by  Charles  and  Mary 
Lamb,  and  married  Mr.  Moxon,  the  Publisher.  It  is  in  these 
relations  that  the  name  is  mentioned  by  Judge  Talfourd,  in  his 
<  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,'  ch.  xiv.  vol.  ii.  p.  141  — h.  b.] 


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AtrTOmOGSAFHIGAL  MEMOBANDl.  15 

month  of  August,  1790,  I  set  off  for  the  Continent,  in 
companionship  with  Robert  Jones,  a  Welshman,  a  fellow- 
collegian.  We  went  staff  in  hand,  without  knapsacks, 
and  carrying  each  his  needments  tied  up  in  a  pocket 
handkerchief,  with  about  twenty  pounds  apiece  in  our 
pockets.  We  crossed  fVom  Dover  and  landed  at  Calais 
on  the  eve  of  the  day  when  the  king  was  to  swear  fidelity 
to  the  new  constitution :  an  event  which  was  solemnized 
with  due  pomp  at  Calais.  On  the  afternoon  of  that  day 
we  started,  and  slept  at  Ardres.  For  what  seemed  best 
to  me  worth  recording  in  this  tour,  see  the  Poem  of  my 
own  Life.i 

After  taking  my  degree  in  January,  1791,  I  went  to 
London,  stayed  there  some  time,  and  then  visited  my 
friend  Jones,  who  resided  in  the  Vale  of  Clwydd,  North 
Wales.  Along  with  him  I  made  a  pedestrian  tour  through 
North  Wales,  for  which  also  see  the  Poem.* 

In  the  autumn  of  1791  I  went  to  Paris,  where  I  stayed 
some  little  time,  and  then  went  to  Orleans,  with  a  view  of 
being  out  of  the  way  of  my  own  countrymen,  that  I  might 
learn  to  speak  the  language  fluently.  At  Orleans,  and 
Blois,  and  Paris,  on  my  return,  I  passed  fifteen  or  sixteen 
months.3  It  was  a  stirring  time.  The  king  was  de- 
throned when  I  was  at  Blois,  and  the  massacres  of  Sep- 
tember took  place  when  I  was  at  Orleans.  But  for  these 
matters  see  also  the  Poem.  I  came  home  before  the 
execution  of  the  king,  and  passed  the  subsequent  time 
among  my  friends  in  London  and  elsewhere,  till  I  setded 
with  my  only  sister  at  Racedown  in  Dorsetshire,  in  the 
year  1796.  / 

Here  we  were  visited  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  then  residing 

>  Prelade,  book  vi.  «  Ibid,  book  liv. 

*  This  is  not  quite  correct  -,  the  time  of  his  absence  did  not 
exceed  thirteen  months. 

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16  AtTTOBIOGRAFHICAL  MEUOBANDA. 

at  Bristol ;  and  for  the  sake  of  being  near  him  when  he 
had  removed  to  Nether-Stowey,  in  Somersetshire,  we 
removed  to  Alfoxden,  three  miles  from  that  place.  This 
was  a  very  pleasant  and  productive  time  of  my  life. 
Coleridge,  my  sister,  and  I,  set  off  on  a  tour  to  Linton 
and  other  places  in  Devonshire ;  and  in  order  to  defray 
his  part  of  the  expense,  Coleridge  on  the  same  afternoon 
commenced  his  poem  of  the  Ancient  Mariner ;  in  which 
I  was  to  have  home  my  part,  and  a  few  verses  were  writ- 
ten by  me,  and  some  assistance  given  in  planning  the 
poem;  but  our  styles  agreed  so  little,  that  I  withdrew 
from  the  concern,  and  he  finished  it  himself. 

In  the  course  of  that  spring  I  composed  many  poems, 
most  of  which  were  printed  at  Bristol,  in  one  volume,  by 
my  friend  Joseph  Cottle,  along  with  Coleridge's  Ancient 
Mariner,  and  two  or  three  other  of  his  pieces. 

In  the  autumn  of  1798,  Mr.  Coleridge,  a  friend  of  his, 
Mr.  Chester,  my  sister,  and  I,  crossed  from  Yarmouth  to 
Hamburgh,  where  we  remained  a  few  days,  and  saw, 
several  times,  Klopstock  the  poet.  Mr.  Coleridge  and  his 
friend  went  to  Ratzburg,  in  the  north  of  Grermany,  and 
my  sister  and  I  preferred  going  southward ;  and  for  the 
sake  of  cheapness,  and  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Hartz 
Mountains,  we  spent  the  winter  at  the  old  imperial  city  of 
Goslar.  The  winter  was  perishingly  cold  —  the  coldest 
of  this  century ;  and  the  good  people  with  whom  we 
lodged  told  me  one  morning,  that  they  expected  to  find 
me  frozen  to  death,  my  little  sleeping  room  being  imme- 
diately over  an  archway.  However,  neither  my  sister 
nor  I  took  any  harm. 

We  returned  to  England  in  the  following  Spring,  and 
went  to  visit  our  friends  the  Hutchinsons,  at  Sockbum-on- 
Tees,  in  the  county  of  Durham,  with  whom  we  remained 
till    the   19th  of  December.     We   then  came,  on  St. 

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AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL  MEMORANDA*  17 

Thomas's  Day,  the  21st,  to  a  small  cottage  at  Town-end, 
Grasmere,  which,  in  the  course  of  a  tour  some  months' 
previously  with  Mr.  Coleridge,  I  had  been  pleased  with, 
and  had  hired.  This  we  furnished  for  about  a  hundred 
pounds,  which  sum  had  come  to  my  sister  by  a  legacy 
from  her  uncle  Crackanthorp. 

I  fell  to  composition  immediately,  and  published,  in 
1800,  the  second  volume  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads. 

In  the  year  1802  I  married  Mary  Hutchinson,  at 
Brompton,  near  Scarborough,  to  which  part  of  the  coun- 
try the  family  had  removed  from  Sockburn.  We  had 
known  each  other  from  childhood,  and  had  practised 
reading  and  spelling  under  the  same  old  dame  at  Penrith, 
a  remarkable  personage,  who  had  taught  three  genera- 
tions, of  the  upper  classes  principally,  of  the  town  of 
Penrith  and  its  neighbourhood. 

After  our  marriage  we  dwelt,  together  with  our  sister, 
at  Town-end,  where  three  of  our  children  were  born.  In 
the  spring  of  1808,  the  increase  of  our  family  caused  us 
to  remove  to  a  larger  house,  then  just  built,  Allan  Bank, 
in  the  same  vale  ;  where  our  two  younger  children  were 
bom,  and  who  died  at  the  rectory,  the  house  we  after- 
wards occupied  for  two  years.  They  died  in  1812,  and 
in  1813  we  came  to  Rydal  Mount,  where  we  have  since 
lived  with  no  further  sorrow  till  1836,  when  my  sister 
became  a  confirmed  invalid,  and  our  sister  Sarah  Hutch- 
inson died.  She  lived  alternately  with  her  brother  and 
with  us. 


VOL.  I. 


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CHAPTER  III. 

BTDAL  MOUKT. 

Two  years  and  a  half  have  passed  away  since  the  dic- 
tation of  the  autobiographical  notes  which  have  been 
inserted  in  the  foregoing  chapter.  The  voice  which 
uttered  them  is  still.  The  Poet  fell  asleep  in  death,  and 
was  buried  in  peace,  by  the  side  of  his  beloved  daughter 
Dora,  in  Grasmere  churchyard. 

Here  the  present  labour  begins  ;  and  I  sit  down  to  per-  ' 
form  it  in  the  Poet's  own  abode.^  Rydal  Mount  is  now 
clad  in  all  its  summer  beauty.  Many  persons  of  the  ! 
present  generation  are  familiar  with  the  scene  in  which 
he  habitually  resided  for  the  last  thirty-seven  years 
of  his  life ;  but  they  who  may  live  in  foreign  climes,  or  in 
future  ages,  may  feel  a  desire  to  form  for  themselves  a 
picture  of  the  place  in  which  the  Poet  lived  so  long,  in 
which  he  breathed  his  last,  and  with  which  his  poems  are, 
and  ever  will  be,  associated  in  the  public  mind. 

1  shall,  therefore,  describe  it  as  it  is  now.  The  house 
stands  upon  the  sloping  side  of  a  rocky  hill,  called  Nab's 
Scar .2    It  has  a  southern  aspect.     In  front  of  it  is  a 

»  June,  1S50.  i 

2  In  the  neighbouring  woods  of  Rydal  is  the  waterfall  which  was 
described  in  one  of  his  earliest  poems. 

' with  sparkling  foam,  a  small  cascade 


Illumines  from  within  the  leafy  shade, 
While  th 
'  In  rocky 
Beyond  . 


While  thick  above  the  rills,  the  branches  close, 
""  In  rocky  basin  its  wild  waves  repose  : 


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&TBAL  MOUKT.  19 

small,  semicircular  area  of  grey  gravel,  fringed  with 
shrubs  and  flowers,  the  house  forming  the  diameter  of  the 
circle.  From  this  area,  there  is  a  descent  by  a  few  stone 
steps  southward,  and  then  a  gentle  ascent  to  a  grassy 
mound.  Here  let  us  rest  a  little.  At  our  back  is  the 
house  ;  in  front,  rather  to  the  left  in  the  horizon,  is 
Wanbfell,  on  which  the  light  of  the  evening  sun  rests, 
and  to  which  the  Poet  has  paid  a  grateful  tribute  in  two 
of  his  later  sonnets :  — 

'  Wansfell !  this  household  has  a  favoured  lot. 
Living,  with  liberty  on  thee  to  gaze.'  * 

B^ieath  it,  the  blue  smoke  shows  the  place  of  the  town  of 
Ambl£sid£.  In  front  is  the  lake  of  Windermere,  shin* 
ing  in  the  sun ;  also  in  front,  but  more  to  the  right,  are 
the  fells  of  Loughrigg,  one  of  which  throws  up  a  massive 
solitary  crag,  on  which  the  Poet's  imagination  pleased 
itself  to  plant  an  imperial  castle :  ^  — 

'  Aerial  rock,  whose  solitary  brow, 
From  this  low  threshold,  daily  meets  the  sight.*  • 

Looking  to  the  right,  in  the  garden,  is  a  beautiful  glade, 
overhung  with  rhododendrons  in  most  luxuriant  leaf  and 
bloom.  Near  them  is  a  tall  ash- tree,  in  which  a  thrush 
has  sung  for, hours  together  during  many  years.*  Not 
far  from  it  is  a  laburnum,  in  which  the  osier  cage  of  the 
doves  was  hung.^    Below,  to  the  west,  is  the  vegetable 

The  eye  reposes  on  a  secret  bridge. 
Half  grey,  half  shagged  with  ivy  to  its  ridge. 
There,  bending  o'er  the  stream,  the  listless  swain 
Lingers  behind  his  disappearing  wain.' 

Evening  Walk,  i,  4. 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  317,  318.  Sonnets  xlii.  xliii. 

«  See  Sonnet  xi.  s  Vol.  ii.  p.  265. 

*  See  vol.  ii.  p.  313.  »  Vol.  ii.  p.  55. 

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20  BTDAL   MOUNT. 

garden,  not  parted  off  from  the  rest,  but  blended  with  it 
by  parterres  of  flowers  and  shrubs. 

Returning  to  the  platform  of  grey  gravel  before  the 
house,  we  pass  under  the  shade  of  a  fine  sycamore,  and 
ascend  to  the  westward  by  fourteen  steps  of  stones,  about 
nine  feet  long,  in  the  interstices  of  which  grow  the  yellow 
flowering  poppy  and  the  wild  geranium,  or  Poor  Robin 
Gay, 

'  With  his  red  stalks  upon  a  sunny  day ; ' 

a  favourite  with  the  Poet,  as  his  verses  show.^  The  steps 
above-mentioned  lead  to  an  upward  sloping  teb&acb, 
about  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  long.  On  the  right  side 
it  is  shaded  by  laburnums,  Portugal  laurels,  mountain 
ash,  and  fine  walndt  trees  and  cherries  :  on  the  left  it  is 
flanked  by  a  low  stone  wall,  coped  with  rude  slates,  and 
covered  with  lichens,  mosses,  and  wild  flowers.  The 
fern  waves  on  the  walls,  and  at  its  base  grows  the  wild 
strawberry  and  foxglove.  Beneath  this  wall,  and  parallel 
to  it,  on  the  left,  is  a  level  terrace,  construce  d  bythe 
Poet  for  the  sake  of  a  friend  most  dear  to  him  and  his, 
who,  for  the  last  twenty  years  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  life, 
was  often  a  visitor  and  inmate  of  Rydal  Mount.^ '  This 

*  See  vol.  V.  p.  16.  'Poor  Robin/  written  March,  1840. 

8  That  deep  and  tender  affection  which  breathes  in  the  Poet^s 
writings,  and  has  endeared  him  and  them  to  so  many  hearts,  is 
no  where  more  gracefully  and  sweetly  expressed  than  in  the  two 
following  sonnets,  hitherto  unpublished,  addressed  to  the  same 
friend  for  whom  the  lower  terrace  was  formed : 

'     On  a  Portrait  of  I.  jp.,  painted  by  Margaret  Gillies. 

*  We  gaze  —  nor  grieve  to  think  that  we  must  die. 
But  that  the  precious  love  this  friend  hath  sown 
Within  our  hearts,  the  love  whose  flower  hath  blown 
Bright  as  if  heaven  were  ever  in  its  eye. 
Will  pass  so  soon  from  human  memory ; 

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BTDAL  MOUNT*  21 

terrace  was  a  favorite  resort  of  the  Poet,  being  more  easy 
for  pacing  to  and  fro,  when  old  age  began  to  make  him 

And  not  by  strangers  to  our  blood  alone. 
But  by  our  best  descendants  be  unknown, 
TJnthought  of — this  may  surely  claim  a  sigh. 
Yet,  blessed  Art,  we  yield  not  to  dejection ; 
Thou  against  Time  so  feelingly  dost  strive  : 
Where'er,  preserved  in  this  most  true  reflection. 
An  image  of  her  soul  is  kept  alive. 
Some  lingering  fragrance  of  the  pure  affection. 
Whose  flower  with  us  will  vanish,  must  survive. 

'William  WosnswosTH. 
'Rpdal  Mmmt,  New  Tear's  Day,  1840.' 

'  To  I.  F. 
*  The  star  which  comes  at  close  of  day  to  shine 
More  heavenly  bright  than  when  it  leads  the  mom. 
Is  Friendship's  emblem  *,  whether  the  forlorn 
She  visiteth,  or,  shedding  light  benign 
Through  shades  that  solemnize  Life's  calm  decline. 
Doth  make  the  happy  happier.    This  have  we 
Learnt,  Isabel,  from  thy  society. 
Which  now  we  too  unwillingly  resign 
Though  for  brief  absence.    But  farewell !  the  page 
Glimmers  before  my  sight  through  thankful  tears. 
Such  as  start  forth,  not  seldom,  to  approve 
Our  truth,  when  we,  old  yet  unchill'd  by  age. 
Call  thee,  though  known  but  for  a  few  fleet  years, 
The  heart-affianced  sister  of  our  love ! 

<  William  Woedsworth. 
'Ryddl  Mount,  Feb,,  1840.' 

*  Variation : 

'  Bright  is  the  star  which  comes  at  eve  to  shine 
More  heavenly  bright  than  when  it  leads  the  mom. 
And  such  is  Friendship,  whether  the  forlorn,'  &c. 

The  MSB.  Notes,  so  often  referred  to  in  the  present  Memoir, 
are  due  to  this  friend,  who  induced  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  dictate 
them ;  and  it  is  therefore  to  this  friendship  that  posterity  will  owe 

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92  JLYDAh  MOUHT. 

feel  the  acclivity  of  the  other  terrace  to  be  toilsome* 
Both  these  terraces  command  beautiful  views  of  the  vale 
of  the  Rothay,  and  the  banks  of  the  lake  of  Windermere. 
The  ascending  terrace  leads  to  an  arbour  lined  with 
fir-cones,  from  which,  passing  onward,  on  opening  the 
latched  door,  we  have  a  view  of  the  lower  end  of  Rydal 
Lake,  and  of  the  long,  wooded  and  rocky  hill  of  Lough- 
rigg»  beyond  and  above  it.  Close  to  this  arbour-door  is  a 
beautiful  sycamore,  with  five  fine  Scotch  firs  in  the  fore- 
ground, and  a  deep  bay  of  wood,  to  the  left  and  front,  of 
oak,  ash,  holly,  hazel,  fir,  and  birch.  The  terrace-path 
here  wmds  gently  off  to  the  right,  and  becomes  what  was 
called  by  the  Poet  and  his  household  the  '  Fab  Terrace, 
on  the  mountain's  side  : '  — 

'  The  Poet's  hand  first  shaped  it,  and  the  steps 
Of  that  same  bard  —  repeated  to  and  fro, 
At  mom,  at  noon,  and  under  moonlight  skies, 
Through  the  vicissitudes  of  many  a  year  — 
Forbad  the  weeds  to  creep  o'er  its  grey  line.'  * 

Here  he 

'  Scattered  to  the  heedless  winds 
The  vocal  raptures  of  fresh  poesy,' 

And  he  was  often  locked 

'  In  earnest  converse  with  beloved  friends.' 

The  *  far  terrace,'  after  winding  along  in  a  serpentine 
line  for  about  l&O  feet,  ends  at  a  little  gate,  beyond  which 

the  main  part  of  its  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
Mr.  Wordsworth's  Poems  were  composed. 
In  the  present  Memoir  these  Notes  will  be  cited  as  '  MSS.  I.F.' 
These  MSS.  Notes  are  now  in  the  possession  of  Mr.  Words- 
worth's son-in-law,  Edward  Quillinan,  Esq.,  to  whose  liberality 
I  am  indebted  for  the  fi-ee  use  of  them  in  the  present  Memoir. 
*  Vol.  V.  p.  64,  Inscription  ix.  beginning — 

'  The  massy  ways,'  &c.       ^         j 

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is  a  beautiful  well  of  clear  water,  oalled  '  the  Nab  Well,* 
which  was  to  the  poet  of  Rydal  —  a  professed  water- 
drinker  1  —  what  the  Bandusian  fount  was  to  the  Sabine 
bard:  — 

'  Thou  hast  cheered  a  simple  board 
"With  beverage  pure  as  ever  fixed  the  choice 
Of  hermit  dubious  where  to  scoop  his  cell, 
Which  Persian  kings  might  envy.' » 

Returning  to  the  arbour,  we  descend,  by  a  narrow  flight 
of  stone  steps,  to  the  kitchen-garden,  and,  passing  through 
it  southward,  we  open  a  gate  and  enter  a  field,  sloping 
down  to  the  valley,  and  called,  from  its  owner's  name, 
*  Dora's  field.'  Not  far  on  the  right,  on  entering  this  field, 
is  the  stone  bearing  the  inscription,  -— 

'  In  these  fair  vales  hath  many  a  tree 
^  At  Wordsworth's  suit  been  spared. 

And  from  the  bnilder's  hand,  this  stone, 
i  For  some  rude  beauty  of  its  own, 

Was  rescued  by  the  Bard.'  ^ 

And  the  concluding  lines  will  now  be  read  with  pathetic 
^        interest :  — 

i  '  So  let  it  rest ;  and  time  will  come, 

When  here  the  tender-hearted 
*  May  heave  a  gentle  sigh  for  him, 

As  one  of  the  departed.'  * 

Near  the  same  gate,  we  see  a  pollard  oak,  on  the  top 
of  whose  trunk  may  yet  be  discerned  some  leaves  of  the 
primrose  which  sheltered  the  wren's  nest :  — 

»  See  vol.  V.  p.  249,  from  Pref.  to  edit,  of  1815. 

«  From  an  unpublished  poem  '  To  the  Nab  Well,'  '  composed 
when  a  probability  existed  of  our  being  obliged  to  quit  Rydal 
Mount  as  a  residence,'  1826. 

•  Vol.  V.  p.  64,  written  1830.  *  1830. 

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84  BT0AL   MO0NT. 

' She  who  planned  the  mossy  lodge, 

Mistrusting  her  evasive  skill. 
Had  to  a  primrose  looked  for  aid. 
Her  wishes  to  fulfil.'  ^ 

On  the  left  of  this  gate  we  see  another  oak,  and  beneath 
it  a  pool,  to  which  the  gold  and  silver  fish,  once  swimming 
in  a  vase  in  the  library  of  the  house,  were  transported  for 
the  enjoyment  of  greater  freedom :  — 

*  Removed  in  kindness  from  their  glassy  cell 
To  the  fresh  waters  of  a  living  well, 
An  elfin  pool,  so  sheltered  that  its  rest 
No  winds  disturb.' « 

The  verses  which  were  suggested  by  the  various  for- 
tunes of  the  fish  will  here  be  remembered  with  pleasure. 
Passing  the  pool,  and  then  turning  to  the  right,  we  come 
to  some  stone  steps  leading  down  the  slope ;  and  to  the 
right,  engraven  on  the  rock,  is  the  following  inscription, 
allusive  to  the  character  of  the  descent :  — 

'  Would'st  thou  be  gathered  to  Christ's  chosen  flock, 
Shun  the  broad  way  too  easily  explored. 
And  let  thy  path  be  hewn  out  of  the  Rock, 
The  living  Rock  of  God's  eternal  Word.' » 

We  return  from  this  field  to  the  house.* 

'  Vol.  ii.  p.  57, '  A  Wren's  Nest.' 

»  See  vol.  V.  pp.  10-12,  '  Gold  and  Silver  Fishes  in  a  Vase,'  and 
*  Liberty.' 
1838. 

*  The  following  lines,  descriptive  of  Rydal  Mount,  are  from  the 
pen  of  a  person  for  whom  Mr.  Wordsworth  entertained  an  affec- 
tionate regard.  (See  note  to  poem  entitled  '  Liberty,'  vol.  v.  p.  16.) 

'THE  POET'S  HOME.' 

BY  MISS   JBWSBURT. 

{PvUished  in  the  IMerary  Magnet  for  1826.) 
'  Low  and  white,  yet  scarcely  seen 
Are  its  walls  for  mantling  green  \ 

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HTDAL  MOUNT*  85 

It  has  been  made  familiar  to  many  eyes  by  engravings, 
especially  by  one  prefixed  to  the  one-volume  edition  of 

Not  a  window  lets  in  light 
Bat  through  flowers  clustering  bright ; 
Not  a  glance  may  wander  there. 
But  it  falls  on  something  fair ; 
Garden  choice,  and  fairy  mound, 
Only  that  no  elves  are  found ; 
Winding  walk,  and  sheltered  nook. 
For  student  grave  and  graver  book : 
Or  a  birdlike  bower,  perchance, 
Fit  for  maiden  and  romance. 

Then,  far  off,  a  glorious  sheen 
Of  wide  and  sunlit  waters  seen  ; 
Hills  that  in  the  distance  lie. 
Blue  and  yielding  as  the  sky. 
And  nearer,  closing  round  the  nest. 
The  home,  of  all  the  "  living  crest," 
Other  rocks  and  mountains  stand, 
Rugged,  yet  a  guardian  band. 
Like  those  that  did,  in  fable  old, 
Elysium  from  the  world  enfold. 

♦        *        *        *        companions  meet 
Thou  Shalt  have  in  thy  retreat : 
One  of  long-tried  love  and  truth, 
Thine  in  age,  as  thine  in  youth ; 
One  whose  locks  of  partial  grey 
"Whisper  somewhat  of  decay ; 
Yet  whose  bright  and  beaming  eye 
Tells  of  more  that  cannot  die. 

Then  a  second  form  beyond. 
Thine,  too,  by  another  bond, 
Sportive,  tender,  graceful,  wild. 
Scarcely  woman,  more  than  child,  — 
One  who  doth  thy  heart  entwine 
Like  the  ever-clinging  vine ; 

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im  KfVAL  HOtriffT. 

the  Poet^s  works.  It  is  a  modest  mansion^  of  a  sober  hue, 
tinged  with  weather  stains,  with  two  tiers  of  five  windows  ; 
on  the  right  of  these  is  ^  porch,  and  above,  and  to  the 
right,  are  two  other  windows ;  the  highest  looks  out  of 
what  was  the  Poet's  bed-room.  The  gable  end  at  the 
east,  that  first  seen  on  entering  the  grounds  from  the  road, 
presents  on  the  ground-floor  the  window  of  the  old  hall  or 
dining-room.  The  house  is  mantled  over  here  and  there 
with  roses  and  ivy,  and  jessamine  and  Virginia  creeper. 

We  may  pause  on  the  threshold  of  the  porch  at  the 
hospitable  'Salve'  inscribed  on  the  pavement  brought 
by  a  friend  from  Italy.  But  the  privacy  of  the  interior 
shall  not  be  invaded.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  in  the  old 
hall  or  dining-room  stands  the  ancestral  almery  brought 
from  Penistone ;  and  here  are  engravings  of  poets  — 
Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakspeare,  Ben  Jonson,  and  Mil* 
ton  —  and  also  of  the  royal  children,  a  gift  from  Her 
most  Gracious  Majesty  the  Queen  to  the  Poet  Laureate. 

In  the  library  —  if  by  such  name  it  may  be  called,  for 
books  are  found  dispersed  indifferently  in  all  the  sitting- 
One  to  whom  thou  art  a  stay, 
As  the  oak  that,  scarred  and  grey, 
Standeth  on,  and  standeth  fast. 
Strong  and  stately  to  the  last. 

Poet's  lot  like  this  hath  been ; 
Such;  perchance,  may  I  have  seen ; 
Or  in  fancy's  fairy  land, 
Or  in  truth  and  near  at  hand : 
If  in  fancy,  then,  forsooth. 
Fancy  had  the  force  of  truth  ; 
If,  again,  a  trnth  it  were, 
Then  was  truth  as  fancy  fair ; 
BiU  whichever  it  might  be, 
it  >X  was  a  Paradise  to  me." 

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BTDAL  MOUNT*  S7 

rooms  of  the  ground  floor,  —  are  pictures  from  the  pencil 
of  the  Poet's  dear  friend  Sir  G.  H.  Beaumont,  illustrating 
^  two  of  the  Poet's  works  —  the  '  White  Doe  of  Rylstone ' 

and  the  'Thorn.'  In  the  adjoining  room  hangs  the  por- 
trait which  suggested  those  heautiful  lines  beginning  with 
the  words,— 

r  *  Beguiled  into  forgetfiilness  of  care 

Ifhe  to  the  day's  unfiDished  task,  of  pen 
Or  book  regardless,  and  of  that  fair  scene 
In  Nature's  prodigality  displayed 
Before  my  window,  oftentimes  and  long 
I  gaze  upon  a  portrait.  * 

)^  On  the  staircase  hangs  the  picture  brought  with  some 

others  by  the  author's  eldest  son  from  Italy,  and  cele- 
brated in  the  sonnet 2, — 

'  Giordano,  verily  thy  pencil's  skill 
Hath  here  pourtrayed  with  Nature's  happiest  grace 
The  fair  Endymion  couched  on  Latmos  hiU.' 

Opposite  is  an  engraving  from  Haydon's  picture  of  the 
"^  Duke  of  Wellington  upon  the  field  of  Waterloo,  com- 
memorated in  another  sonnet ^ ;  and,  not  much  further  on, 
the  Cuckoo  Clock,  immortalised  by  the  Poet's  imaginative 
and  tender  lines,  ^  — 

'  For  service  hangs  behind  his  chamber  door ;  * 
>         and  the  voice  which  cheered  him  in  his  sleepless  nights, 

>  See  vol.  iv.  p.  249,  written  1834. 

«  Vol.  iv.  p.  141,  written  1846. 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  311.  '  By  art's  bold  privilege  warrior  and  war-horse 
stand,'  &c. 

<  '  The  Cuckoo-Clock,'  vol.  ii.  p.  204,  beginning  '  Would'st  thou 
be  taught,'  &c. 

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28  BYDAL  MOUNT. 

and  presented  to  his  mind  a  train  of  blithe  and  vernal 
thoughts  in  winter  nights, 

'  When  tempests  howl 
Or  nipping  frosts  remind  thee  trees  are  bare/ 

still  sounds  from  its  retreat,  and  is  heard  throughout  the 
house. 

This  clock  struck  twelve  at  noon,  on  Tuesday,  April 
23,  1850,  when  the  Poet  breathed  his  last. 


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CHAPTER  IV. 

BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGE  OF   WILLIAM   WORDSWORTH. 

William  Wordsworth  was  bom  at  Cockermouth,  in 
Cumberland,  on  the  7th  of  April,  1770,  at  10  o'clock  at 
night,  and  was  baptized  on  the  13th  day  of  the  same 
month.  The  house  in  which  he  first  saw  the  light  is  a 
large  mansion  (the  property  of  Lord  Lonsdale,  and  now 
occupied  by  Mr.  Wood)  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  road 
on  entering  Cockermouth  from  Workington.  He  was  the 
second  son  of  John  Wordsworth,  and  of  Anne  his  wife. 

The  family  of  Wordsworth  appears  to  have  been  settled 
at  Penistone  near  Doncaster  in  the  reign  of  Edward  III., 
and  from  that  reign  (to  quote  the  words  of  an  eminent 
antiquarian  and  genealogist^)  ^  no  name  appears  more 
frequently  than  that  of  Wordsworth  in  deeds  relating  to 
that  parish.'  In  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  a.  d.  1525,  one 
of  the  family  recorded  some  generations  of  his  pedigree 
by  carving  an  inscription  on  an  oak  chest  or  almery,  now 
at  Rydal  Mount 

In  the  notes  to  the  ancient  ballad,  entitled  '  The  Dragon 
of  Wantley,'  a.  d.  1603,  published  by  Dr.  Percy  2,  Wordes- 
worth  of  Penistone  is  described  as  cousin  to  the  Dragon  of 
Wantley,  i.  c.  to  Sir  Francis  Wortley. 

The  branch  of  the  family  from  which  the  Poet  sprang 

*  The  Rev.  Joseph  Hunter,  in  his  '  History  of  the  Deanery  of 
Doncaster.' 
>  Reliques,  vol.  iii.  p.  296. 

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30  BIRTH  AND  PABBNTAGB 

was  planted  at  Faith waite  near  Stainborough,  and  thence 
removed  to  Sockbridge  in  Westmoreland,  in  the  earlier 
part  of  the  last  century.^ 

John  Wordsworth,  the  father  of  the  Poet,  was  the 
second  son  of  Richard  Wordsworth  of  Sockbridge  near 
Penrith,  and  Mary,  daughter  of  John  Robinson  of  Apple- 
by. Hq,  the  Poet's  father,  was  bom  on  November  27, 
1741,  and  was  an  attomey-at-law  of  some  eminence  :  he 
resided  at  Cockermouth,  and  was  law-agent  to  the  Earl  of 
Lonsdale,  and  is  described  as  a  person  of  considerable 
mental  vigour  and  eloquence.  He  was  in  the  prime  of 
life,  and  was  rising  rapidly  to  fame  and  opulence,  when 
he  died,  in  consequence  of  a  cold  caught  on  CJoldfell, 
where  he  lost  his  way,  and  passed  the  night  in  the  open 
air,  in  a  professional  ride  from  Broughton  to  Cockermouth. 
His  death  took  place  December  30,  1783.  His  remains 
were  interred  at  Cockermouth.  He  left  four  sons  and  a 
daughter. 

Anne,  his  wife,  the  poet's  mother,  was  bom  in  January, 
1747,  and  was  the  daughter  of  William  Cookson,  of  Pen- 
rith, mercer,  and  Dorothy,  daughter  of  James  Crackan- 
thorpe,  of  Newbiggen  Hall.  She  was  therefore  descended 
by  her  mother's  side  from  a  very  ancient  family  —  one, 
also,  distinguished  in  the  annals  of  learning  by  the  name 
of  Richard  Crackanthorpe,  D.  D.,  one  of  the  ablest  and 
most  leamed  divines  in  the  most  erudite  age  of  English 
theology,  the  reign  of  James  I.  Anne  Cookson  was  mar- 
ried to  John  Wordsworth,  at  Penrith,  on  the  5th  Febmary, 
1766,  and  was  buried  there  March   11th,   1778,  about 

*  For  some  further  particulars  concerning  the  genealogy  of  the 
family  of  Wordsworth,  which  will  be  found  in  the  Appendix,  I  am 
indebted  to  the  kindness  of  a  valued  friend  and  relative.  Captain 
RoBiNsoK,  R.  N.,  of  Ambleside,  and  to  communications  addressed  ^ 
to  Mr.  Wordsworth  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Huwtee. 

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OF  WILLIAM   WORDSWOKTH.  31 

five  years  and  nine  months  before  the  death  of  her  hus- 
band. 

The  issue  of  this  marriage  was  as  follows :  — 

1.  Richard  Wordsworth,  born  at  Cockermouth,  19th 

August,    1768;  baptized  August  29.     Attorney-at- 
Law,  of  Staple  Inn^  London.     £Ked  May  19, 1816. 

2.  William  Wordsworth,  the  Poet,  born  April  7,  1770 ; 

baptized  April  13.     The  subject  of  this  Memoir. 

3.  Dorothy  Wordsworth,  born    on    Christmas    Day, 

1771  ;  baptized  18th  January,  1772. 

4.  John  Wordsworth,  bom  4th  December,  1772 ;  bap- 

tized at  Cockermouth.  Commander  of  the  Earl  of 
Abergavenny  East  Indiaman,  in  which  he  perished 
by  shipwreck  off  Weymouth,  on  the  night  of  Friday, 
Feb.  5,  1805. 
6.  Christopher  Wordsworth,  born  at  Cockermouth, 
June  9,  1774 ;  baptized  July  8,  1774.  Elected  Fel- 
Jow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  October  I,  1798w 
Married  Priscilla,  daughter  of  Charles  Lloyd,  Esq., 
banker,  of  Birmingham,  October  6,  1804.  Chaplain 
to  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  Manners  Sutton. 
Dean  of  Bocking,  May  30th,  1808.  Rector  of 
Lambeth,  Surrey,  and  Sundridge,  Kent,  April  10, 
1816.  Installed  Master  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, July  26, 1820.  Died  at  Buxted,  Sussex,  Feb. 
2, 1846. 

The  scene  of  William  Wordsworth's  birth-place,  Cock- 
ermouth, was  very  favourable  to  the  formation  of  the 
Poet's  mind.  The  banks  of  the  Derwent,  near  which 
Cockermouth  stands,  are  very  picturesque.  The  Poet 
bears  testimony  to  its  workings  upon  him,  when  he  says, 

'  One,  the  fairest  of  all  rivers,  loved 
To  blend  his  murmurs  with  my  nurse's  song. 

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32  BIETH   AND  PARENTAGE 

And  from  his  fords  and  shallows  sent  a  voice 
That  flowed  along  my  dreams.*  * 

And  the  old  baronial  castle,  near  which  it  flows,  was  not 
without  its  influence.     When  the  Derwent 

'  Had  left  these  mountains  and  received 
On  his  smooth  breast  the  shadow  of  those  towers, 
That  yet  survive  a  shattered  monument 
Of  feudal  sway,  the  bright  blue  river  passed 
Along  the  margin  of  our  terrace-walk.'  ^ 

The  town  of  Cockermouth,  in  which  he  was  bom,  and 
in  the  churchyard  ^  of  which  his  father's  remains  are  laid, 
and  the  mouldering  castle,  the  play-ground  of  his  child- 
hood, suggested  to  him  those  reminiscences  and  reflections 
in  his  old  age  which  are  embodied  in  two  of  his  most 
interesting  sonnets,  written  in  1833.'*  Besides  this,  his 
*  father's  family  '^  contributed  their  due  share  to  his  poeti- 
cal education. 

His  mother  was  a  woman  of  piety  and  wisdom ;  and 
the  reader  will  recollect  those  touching  lines  in  which  he 
refers  to  the  time  in  which 

*  He  held  mute  dialogues  with  his  mother's  heart.'  * 
And  the  conflding  and  enlarged  spirit  in  which  she  con- 

*  Prelude,  book  i.  p.  14.  »  Ibid.  p.  15. 

3  The  church  of  Cockermouth  was  destroyed  by  fire  on  the 
morning  of  Friday,  Nov.  15,  1850. 

*  Vol.  iv.  p.  146,  Sonnets  vi.  and  vii.,  '  In  sight  of  the  Town  of 
Cockermouth,'  and  'Address  from  the  Spirit  of  Cockermouth 
Castle.' 

*  Vol  i.  p.  147.  See  Poems  referring  to  Childhood,  vols.  i.  li. 
iii. 

^  Prelude,  book  ii.  p.  44.  See  the  whole  passage  from  'Blest 
the  infant  babe,'  &c.,  p.  42. 


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OF   WILLIAM  WORDSWORH.  33 

ducted  the  early  education  of  her  children  is  admirably 
described  in  his  autobiographical  poem.^ 
But  she  was  soon  removed  by  death :  -^ 

'  Early  died 
My  honoured  mother,  she  who  was  the  heart 
And  hinge  of  all  our  learnings  and  our  loves. 
She  left  us  destitute.'  > 

In  enumerating  the  Poet's  earliest  instructors,  it  would 
be  unjust  to  omit  the  name  of  the  ancient  Dame  at  Pen- 
rith, to  which  place  he  was  often  taken  to  visit  his 
maternal  grand-parents.  This  venerable  person  was  Mrs. 
Anne  Birkett,  whose  system,  as  tradition  reports,  was  very 
effective  in  exercising  the  memory^  without  prematurely 
taxing  the  reasoning  powers,  of  her  young  pupils.  Doubt- 
less the  Poet  had  her  in  his  mind,  when  he  wrote,  in  1828, 
to  his  excellent  friend,  the  Rev.  Hugh  James  Rose,  '  The 
old  Dame  did  not  affect  to  make  theologians,  or  logicians^ 
but  she  taught  to  read,  and  she  practised  the  memory y 
often  no  doubt  by  rote  ;  but  still  the  faculty  was  improved. 
Something  perhaps  she  explained,  and  left  the  rest  to 
parents,  to  masters,  and  to  the  pastor  of  the  parish.' 

This  system  stands  in  strong  coptrast  with  the  modern 
process  of  instruction,  which,  from  a  fear  of  being  ridi- 
culed for  making  children  learn  by  rotCy  neglects  the 
memory,  and  prematurely  enfeebles  the  reason  by  over- 
loading it;  thus  doing  a  double  violence  to  nature. 
Among  her  pupils  —  for  she  instructed  girls  and  boys 
together  —  was  Mary  Hutchinson,  a  few  months  younger 
than  William  Wordsworth,  a  daughter  of  John  and  Mary 
Hutchinson  of  Penrith,  and  afterwards  the  beloved  wife  of 
the  Poet  for  nea  fly  forty-eight  years. 

>  Ibid.  p.  117.  « Ihid.  p.  117. 

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84  BIRTH  AND  PARENTAGB 

When  at  Cockermouth  he  was  instructed  in  the  rudi- 
ments of  learning  by  the  Rev.  Mr,  Gilbanks;  and  it  is 
recorded,  that  the  Poet's  father  set  him  very  early  to  learn 
portions  of  the  works  of  the  best  English  poets  by  heart, 
so  that  at  an  early  age  he  could  repeat  large  portions  of 
Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  Spenser. 

The  influence  of  his  one  sister,  Dorothy  Wordsworth, 
upon  his  life  from  his  childhood,  was  too  important  to  be 
forgotten  here.  She  was  not  quite  two  years  younger 
than  he  was.  Her  loving  tenderness  and  sweetness  pro- 
duced a  most  beneficial  effect  on  his  character.  The 
contrast  between  the  temper  of  the  brother  and  sister  is 
represented  by  the  Poet  himself  in  the  verses  where  he 
alludes  to  the  times,  in  which  (he  says) 

*  My  sister  Emmeline  and  I 
Together  chased  the  butterfly. 
A  very  hunter  did  /  rush 
Upon  the  prey    .     .     . 
But  she  J  God  love  her !  feared  to  brush 
The  dust  from  off  its  wings.'  * 

And,  speaking  of  her,  he  expresses  his  gratitude  that  she 
who  was 

*  The  blessing  of  his  later  years, 

"Was  with  him  when  a  boy.' 

And  the  nature  of  her  influence  upon  him  is  thus  por- 
trayed : 

'  She  gave  me  eyes,  she  gave  me  ears. 
And  humble  cares,  and  delicate  fears, 
A  heart,  the  fountain  of  sweet  tears, 
And  love,  and  thought,  and  joy.'  > 

But  death  came  to  the  mother,  and  separated  the  brother 
and  sister  for  some  years.     Dorothy  Wordsworth  was  re- 

»  Vol.  i.p  .  148.  a  Vol.  i.  p.  148. 

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OF   WILLIAM  WOBDSWORTH.  35 

moved  from  Cockermouth  to  Penrith,  the  residence  of  her 
maternal  grandfather;  and  eventually  she  was  educated 
mainly  at  Halifax,  under  the  care  of  her  mother's  cousin, 
Miss  Threlkeld,  afterwards  married  to  W.  Rawson,  Esq., 
of  Millhouse,  near  Halifax.  She  also  resided  occasionally 
with  Dr.  Cookson,  Canon  of  Windsor,  her  maternal  uncle, 
at  Fomcett,  and  at  Windsor. 

Here  we  must  leave  her  for  the  present,  and  return  to 
her  brother  William. 


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CHAPTnER   v. 


SCHOOL-TIME. 


In  the  year  1778,  soon  after  his  mother's  death,  William 
Wordsworth,  then  in  his  ninth  year,  was  sent  to  school  at 
Hawkshead,^  in  Lancashire.  His  elder  brother,  Eichard, 
went  with  him;  and  his  two  other  brothers,  John  and 
Christopher,  followed  him,  in  course  of  time,  to  the  same 
place  of  education. 

Hawkshead  is  a  small  market  town  in  the  vale  of 
Esthwaite,  and  about  a  third  of  a  mile  to  the  north-west 
of  the  Lake,  which  lies  between  Windermere  and  Con- 
iston,  but  nearer  to  Windermere,  and  almost  parallel  to 
both. 

The  Lake  and  Vale  of  Esthwaite  are  more  remarkable 
for  sweet  and  peaceful  beauty  than  for  grandeur  or  mag- 
nificence. -  Ascending  to  the  church-yard  you  see  west- 
ward Yewdale  Fell,  and  northward  in  the  horizon  a 
picturesque  outline  of  hills  stretching  from  Helvellyn,  on 
the  left,  along  Fairfield  and  Rydal  Head  to  Red  Screes, 
and  the  White  House  on  the  Kirkstone  Pass,  to  Hill  Bell, 
and  the  fells  over  Ambleside,  on  the  right.  Nearer  are 
green  fields.  To  the  south-east  is  the  Lake,  with  its  small 
floating  island  at  the  north  end.  To  the  left  are  meadows, 
and  the  vicarage  in  a  dell  beyond  them. 

The  Church  stands  beautifully  on  a  natural  terrace- 
like mound,  and  is  a  simple,  large,  solid  structure,  with  a 

>  See  Prelude,  p.  124. 

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8CHOOL-TIMX.  37 

square  massive  tower  at  the  west  end,  and  windows,  in 
the  perpendicular  style  of  architecture,  in  the  east  end, 
and  on  the  sides. 

To  quote  the  Poet's  words : 

'  The  snow-white  church  upon  her  hill 
Sits  like  a  throned  lady,  sending  oat 
A  gracious  look  all  over  her  domain.'  ^ 

The  village,  which  consists  mainly  of  white  cottages, 
roofed  with  dark-grey  slate,  lies  on  the  north  and  north* 
east  below  the  hill  on  which  the  church  stands.  There  is 
a  sundial  in  the  church-yard.  Beneath  the  church-yard 
on  the  south-west  is  the  School  : 

*  The  grassy  chorch-yard  hangs 
Upon  a  slope  above  the  village  school.'  * 

And  detached  from  it  at  a  little  distance  is  the  master's 
house. 

This  School  was  founded  by  Edwin  Sandys,  arch- 
bishop of  York,  in  the  year  1585.  The  fabric  consists  of 
a  schoolroom  on  the  ground  floor,  and  some  chambers  on 
the  first  floor,  in  one  of  which  is  a  library,  and  a  tablet  on 
the  wall  recording  the  name  of  the  masters  in  succession. 
The  boys  were  boarded  in  the  village  and  neighbouring 
hamlets  at  the  houses  of  dames, 

'  Ye  lowly  cottages  wherein  we  dwelt, 
A  ministration  of  your  own  was  yours  j 
Can  I  forget  you,  being  as  you  were 
So  beautiful  among  the  pleasant  fields 
In  which  ye  stood  ? ' » 

In  William  Wordsworth's  time,  when  Hawkshead  school 
was  one  of  the  most  flourishing  seminaries  in  the  north  of 

^  Prelude,  p.  86.  « Ibid.  p.  123.  » Ibid.  p.  24. 

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38  SCHOOL-TIME. 

England,  few  of  the  surrounding  cottages  were  without 
some  inmates  from  among  the  scholars. 

The  head  masters  of  the  school  in  William  Words- 
worth's school  days  were  — 

Rev.  James  Peake,  M.  A.,  of  St.  John's  Coll.,  Cam- 
bridge, master  from  1766  to  1781. 

Rev.  Edward  Christian,  M.  A.,  also  of  St  John's  Col- 
lege, master  in  1781. 

Rev.  William  Taylor,  M.  A.,  Eman.  Coll.,  Cambridge, 
master,  1782-1786. 

And  Rev.  Thos.  Bowman,  M.  A.,  Trin.  Coll.,  Cam- 
bridge, master  from  1786  to  1821. 

The  Rev.  William  Taylor  was  regarded  by  the  Poet 
with  much  affection.^  Taylor  died  while  William  Words- 
worth was  at  school ;  and,  just  before  his  death,  he  sent 
for  the  upper  boys  into  his  chamber,  among  whom  Wil- 
liam was  one ;  and  there  he  took  leave  of  them  on  his 
death-bed. 

Doubtless  it  was  this  scene  which  prompted  the  fol- 
lowing lines,  addressed  to  the  scholars  of  the  village  school 
of . 

*  I  heard  the  blessing  which  to  you, 
Our  common  Friend  and  Father  sent ; 
I  kissed  his  cheek  before  he  died.'  * 

Mr.  Taylor  was  buried  in  Cartmell  church-yard;  and 
by  his  command  a  stanza  from  Gray's  Elegy  ^  was  in- 
scribed on  his  tomb. 

Eight  years  afterwards,  William  Wordsworth  turned 
aside  from  his  route  over  Ulverstone  Sands,  to  visit  his 


»  See  Prelude,  p.  289.  «  Vol.  v.  p.  124. 

8  Part  of  the  epitaph,  at  the  conclusion,  ending  with  the  words, 
'his  Father  and  his  Grod.' 


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8CH00L-TIMB.  38 

grave,  aod  thus  records  his  feelings  on  doing  so,  and 
refers  to  his  master^s  words  on  his  death-bed. 

'  I  turned  aside 
To  seek  the  ground  where  'mid  a  throng  of  graves 
An  honoured  teacher  of  my  youth  was  laid, 
And  on  the  stone  were  graven  by  his  desire 
Lines  from  the  churchyard-elegy  of  Gqay. 
This  faithful  guide,  speaking  from  his  death-bed, 
Added  no  farewell  to  his  parting  counsel, 
But  said  to  me,  "  My  head  will  soon  lie  low  ; " 
And  when  I  saw  the  turf  that  covered  him. 
After  the  lapse  of  full  eight  years,  those  words, 
With  sound  of  voice  and  countenance  of  the  Man, 
Came  back  upon  me,  so  that  some  few  tears 
Fell  from  me  in  my  own  despite.^ 

'  He  loved  the  Poets,  and,  if  now  alive, 
"Would  have  loved  me,  as  one  not  destitute 
Of  promise,  nor  belying  the  kind  hope 
That  he  had  formed,  when  I,  at  his  command, 
Began  to  spin,  with  toil,  my  earliest  songs.' 

The  Dame  with  whom  William  lodged  was  Anne  Ty- 
son. Of  her  also  he  has  spoken  with  affectionate  tender- 
ness in  the  *  Prelude.' 

'  The  thoughts  of  gratitude  shall  fall  like  dew 
Upon  thy  grave,  good  creature  !  * » 

Her  garden,  its  brook,  and  dark  pine  tree,  and  the 
stone  table  under  it,  were  all  dear  to  his  memory ;  and 
the  chamber  in  which  he 

'  Had  lain  awake  on  summer  nights  to  watch 
The  moon  in  splendour  couched  among  the  leaves 
Of  a  tall  ash,  that  near  our  cottage  stood.' ' 

>  Prelude,  p.  289. 

a  P.  86  j  see  also  p.  94,  and  the  Poem  on  Nutting,  vol.  ii.  p.  98. 

«  See  Prelude,  p.  88. 


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40  SCBOOL-TIME. 

She  lived  to  above  fourscore,  unmarried,  aad  loving 
her  young  inmates  as  her  children,  and  beloved  by  them 
as  a  mother : 

'  Childless,  yet  by  the  strangers  to  her  blood 
Honoured  with  little  less  than  filial  love.'  ^ 

The  beauties  of  the  village,  and  its  lake  and  surround- 
ing scenery,  exercised  a  powerful  influence  on  his  mind, 
and  have  called  forth  frequent  expressions  of  his  admira- 
tion and  love : 

'  Fair  seed-time  had  my  soul,  and  I  grew  up 
Fostered  alike  by  beauty  and  by  fear  j 
Much  favoured  in  my  birth-place,  and  no  less 
In  that  beloved  vale,  to  which  ere  long 
We  were  transplanted.' « 

'  Well  do  I  call  to  mind  the  very  week 
When  I  was  first  intrusted  to  the  care 
Of  that  sweet  valley.' ' 

It  was  his  habit  to  make  the  circuit  of  the  lake  —  five 
miles  —  early,  before  school-hours,  with  one  of  his  school- 
fellows (John  Fleming,  of  Rayrigg),  pacing  side  by 
side  *  — 

'  Repeating  favourite  verses  with  one  voice, 
Or  conning  more,  as  happy  as  the  birds 
That  with  us  chanted.'  * 

And,  in  the  winter-season,  when  the  lake  was  frozen 
over  and 

'  Clear  and  loud 
The  village  clock  tolled  six '  — 

then  was  a  time  of  rapture.     The  skates  were  braced  on, 
and  he  and  his  comrades  • 

» Ibid.  p.  86.        «  Ibid.  p.  15.        •  Ibid.  p.  124. 
*  See  p.  46.         »  P.  130. 


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SCHOOL-TIMB.  41 

*  all  shod  with  steel, 

hissed  along  the  polished  ice  in  games 

Confederate.* ' 

He  describes  his  own  character  at  this  period,  as  fol* 
lows: 

*  Nothing  at  that  time 
So  welcome,  no  temptation  half  so  dear, 
As  that  which  urged  me  to  a  daring  feat : 
Deep  pools,  tall  trees,  black  chasms,  and  dizzy  crags, 
And  tottering  towers  —  I  loved  to  stand  and  read 
Their  looks.' « 

The  meadows  also,  and  the  mountains,  and  the  ^  twi- 
light glens,' 3  were  his  play-ground.  Fishing  and  hunting 
were  his  games ;  and  on  holidays  he  and  his  fellows  went 
further  afield,  to  the  broader  waters  of  Windermere,  and 
to  the  monastic  ruin  of  Fumess. 

'  Our  pastime  was,  on  bright  half:holidays, 
To  sweep  along  the  plain  of  Windermere, 
With  rival  oars :  *  * 

not  without  music,  for  they 

'  steered  their  course  with  one. 
The  Minstrel  of  the  troop.'  * 

But  Esthwaite  and  Hawkshead  were  the  home  of  his 
heart.     The  powers  of  nature  seemed  to  belong,  by 

'  a  peculiar  right, 
To  thee  and  thy  grey  huts,  thou  one  dear  Vale ! '  • 

Hawkshead  furnished  him  not  only  with  images  of 
natural  beauty,  which  enlarged  and  elevated  his  thoughts, 

>  Prelude,  p.  21.  »  First  Book  of  Recluse,  MS. 

»  Vol.  i.  p.  3.  *  Prelude,  p.  35. 

»  Ibid.  p.  46.    Robert  Greenwood,  afterwards  Senior  Fellow  of 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
•  Ibid.  p.  4X. 


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42  8GHOOI.*T1MB. 

and  gave  power,  freshness,  and  grandeur  to  his  imagina- 
tion; but  it  also  supplied  material  for  the  exercise  of 
reflection  and  the  affections.  The  character  of  '  Mat- 
thew '  *  was  doubtless  formed  in  part  from  remembrances 
of  his  own  instructors.*  His  musings  in  the  church-yard 
on  the  grave  of  his  youthful  playmate  — 

'  There  was  a  boy ;  ye  knew  him  well,  ye  cliffs 
And  islands  of  Winander '  •  — 

are  full  of  pathos  as  well  as  of  imaginative  beauty.  The 
'  Lines  left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Yew  Tree  near  Esthwaite 
Lake '  indicate  a  nice  observation  of  human  character, 
and  are  a  noble  protest  against  moody  selfishness  and 
pride.3  To  which  it  may  be  added  that  the  portraits  of 
the  Hanoverian  and  Non- Juror  of  '  The  Excursion '  *  were 
drawn  from  recollections  at  Hawkshead. 

Concerning  the  lines  left  upon  a  yew-tree  seat,  Mr. 
Wordsworth  thus  expressed  himself  in  1843:^  'Com- 
posed in  part  at  school  at  Hawkshead.  The  tree  has 
disappeared,  and  the  slip  of  common  on  which  it  stood, 
that  ran  parallel  to  the  lake,  and  lay  open  to  it,  has  long 
been  enclosed,  so  that  the  road  has  lost  much  of  its  attrac- 
tion. This  spot  was  my  favourite  walk  in  the  evenings 
during  the  latter  part  of  my  school-time.  The  individual 
whose  habits  and  character  are  here  given  was  a  gentle- 
man of  the  neighbourhood,  a  man  of  talent  and  learning, 
who  had  been  educated  at  one  of  our  universities,  and 
returned  to  pass  his  time  in  seclusion  on  his  own  estate. 
He  died  a  bachelor  in  middle  age.     Induced  by  the  beauty 

>  Vol.  iv.  p.  193-197.  «  Prelude,  p.  122. 

8  Vol.  i.  p.  39.  *  Book  vi.  p.  183. 

*  MSS.  I.  F. 

*  [See  postf  Editorial  note.  Chap.  xiv.  —  h.  e.] 

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SCHOOL-TIME.  4S 

of  the  prospect,  he  built  a  small  summer-house  on  the 
rocks  above  the  peninsula  on  which  the  ferry*hou8e 
stands. 

*  This  property  afterwards  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
late  Mr.  Curwen,  The  site  was  long  ago  pointed  out  by 
Mr.  West  in  his  '  Guide '  as  the  pride  of  the  Lakes,  and 
now  goes  by  the  name  of  '  The  Station.'  So  much  used 
I  to  be  delighted  with  the  view  from  it,  while  a  little  boy, 
that  some  years  before  the  first  pleasure-house  was  built, 
I  led  thither  from  Hawkshead  a  youngster  about  my  own 
age,  an  Irish  boy,  who  was  a  servant  to  an  itinerant  con- 
juror. My  motive  was  to  witness  the  pleasure  I  expected 
the  boy  would  receive  from  the  prospect  of  the  islands 
below,  and  the  intermingling  water.  I  was  not  disap* 
pointed.' 

Nature  appears  to  have  done  more  for  Wordsworth  than 
books;  yet  he  was  not  remiss  as  a  student.  He  read 
much  of  English  literature,  especially  works  of  imagina- 
tion. He  knew  a  great  deal  of  English  poetry  by  heart ; 
and  he  wrote  English  verses  at  school.*  At  that  time  it 
was  not  the  custom  of  north-country  schools  to  exercise 
their  pupils  much  in  classical  composition.  But  Words- 
worth was  a  fair  Latin  scholar ;  and  he  had  made  respect- 

♦  [There  is  a  sonnet  beginning 

Calm  is  all  nature  as  a  resting  wheel, 

now  placed  among  the  '  Poems  written  in  Youth  *  — Vol.  i.  p.  2. 
It  has  the  title  '  Written  in  very  early  Youth,*  but  no  precise  date 
has  been  given  to  it  in  any  of  toe  editions ;  it  appeared  first  in 
the  two  volumes  published  in  1807 ;  and  in  the  last  edition  is  very 
slightly  altered.  This  '  very  early '  composition  is  of  interest  as 
showing  the  Poet's  use  of  the  Sonnet,  long  before  his  genius  was 
quickened  to  it  by  the  admiration  of  Milton's  sonnets,  as  expressed 
in  a  subsequent  chapter  (Ch.  xvin.)  —  h.  a.] 

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44  SCHOOL-TIME. 

able  progress  ia  mathematics  before  he  left  school.  His 
feelings  on  quitting  Hawkshead  are  expressed  in  the 
lines  — 

'  Dear  native  regions,  I  foretell, 
From  what  I  feel  at  this  farewell, 
My  soul  will  cast  the  backward  view, 
The  longing  look  alone  on  you.*  * 

His  father  had  died  while  William  was  yet  a  schoolboy, 
and  lefl  him  and  his  three  brothers,  and  his  sister,  orphans 
in  the  year  1783.  His  father^s  estate  was  derived  mainly 
from  professional  labour;  and  at  his  death  the  bulk  of 
his  fortune  consisted  in  sums  due  him  from  Sir  James 
Lowther,  afterwards  Earl  Lonsdale,  whose  legal  agent  he 
was.  This  debt  was  claimed  on  behalf  of  the  orphans ; 
but  in  vain.  It  remained  unpaid  till  the  EarPs  death,  in 
1803,  when  it  was  liquidated,  in  a  prompt  and  liberal 
manner,  by  his  successor,  the  late  Earl  Lonsdale.  At 
their  father's  decease  the  brothers  were  placed  under  the 
care  of  their  two  uncles,  Richard  Wordsworth  and  Christo- 
pher Crackanthorpe ;  and  in  the  year  1787  William  was 
sent  by  them  to  the  University  of  Cambridge. 

» Vol.  i.  p.  1. 


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i 


CHAPTER  VI. 


COLLEGE    LIFE. 


In  the  monti*  of  October,  1787,  William  Wordsworth, 
then  in  the  eighteenth  year  of  his  age,  commenced  his 
residence  at  St.  John^s  College,  Cambridge,  His  feelings 
on  his  first  arrival  at  the  university  are  vividly  portrayed 
by  himself  in  his  biographical  poem.^  He  there  also  de* 
scribes  his  occupations  ;  and  to  that  description  the  reader 
IS  referred. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  the  picture  is  not  a  bright  one.  In 
some  respects  he  was  not  very  well  prepared  to  profit  by 
the  influences  of  the  university.  His  previous  scholastic 
training  had  not  been  of  a  kind  to  qualify  him  for  pursu- 
ing the  studies  of  Cambridge  with  the  same  prospect  of 
success  as  was  within  the  reach  of  students  tutored  in  the 
great  public  schools.  Hence,  intellectually,  he  and  the 
university  were  not  in  full  sympathy  with  each  other. 
Besides,  he  had  never  been  subject  to  restraint:  his 
school  days  were  days  of  freedom ;  and  latterly,  since 
the  death  of  his  parents,  he  was  almost  entirely  his  own 
master.  In  addition  to  this,  his  natural  temperament  was 
eager,  impetuous,  and  impatient  of  control. 

'  While  yet  an  innocent;  I  breathed/ 
'  Prelude,  books  iii.  and  vi. 

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46  COLLEGE   LIFE. 

he  says, 

'  Among  wild  appetites,  and  blind  desires, 
Motions  of  savage  instinct  my  delight 
And  exultation.'  ^ 

He  was  not  prepared  by  habit  or  disposition  to  submit 
with  genial  affection  and  reverent  humility  to  the  disci- 
pline of  a  college;  especially  when  that  discipline  wad 
administered  by  some  who  did  not  appear  to  comprehend 
its  true  meaning,  and  did  not  embody  its  spirit  in  their 
lives. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  William  Wordsworth  brought 
with  him  to  Cambridge  an  imagination  elevated,  an  intel- 
lect enlarged,  and  affections  solemnized,  by  intercourse 
with  the  powers  of  nature  in  their  most  majestic  form. 
And  he  had  a  clear  sense  of  what  was  noble,  just  and 
true.  If,  therefore,  the  tone  of  the  university  had  then 
been  higher  than  it  was  —  if  the  lives  of  the  members  of 
the  university,  and  especially  of  its  rulers,  had  been 
holier  —  if  a  spirit  of  dignified  self-respect  and  severe 
self-denial  had  breathed  in  their  deportment  —  and  if  an 
adequate  appreciation  of  what  was  due  to  the  memory 
and  injunctions  of  their  founders  and  benefactors,  and  a 
religious  reverence  for  the  inheritance  of  piety,  wisdom, 
and  learning,  bequeathed  to  them  by  antiquity,  had  mani- 
fested itself  in  their  practice  ;  then,  it  can  hardly  be 
doubted,  the  authentic  influence  of  the  academic  system 
would  have  made  itself  felt  by  him.  Cambridge  would 
have  stamped  its  image  upon  the  mind  of  Wordsworth ; 
he  would  have  paid  it  dutiful  homage,  filial  obedience, 
and  affectionate  veneration. 

But,  at  that  period  of  academic  history,  the  case  was 

^  First  book  o£  '  The  Recluse,'  still  unpublished. 

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COLLEGE  LIFS.  ^ 

Otherwise.  Hence  he  felt  himself  to  stand  at  a  higher 
elevation  of  moral  dignity  than  some  of  his  teachers. 
The  youthful  under-graduate  looked  down  upon  some  of 
his  instructors.  He  saw  sacred  services  provided  day 
afler  day,  morning  and  evening,  by  his  college,  and  he 
found  that  he  and  his  fellow  students  were  statutably 
required  to  attend  them.  But  he  looked  in  vain  for  the 
presence  of  many  of  those  who  ate  the  bread  of  the 
founders,  and  were  supposed  to  administer  the  statutes, 
and  had  bound  themselves  by  solemn  engagements  to 
observe  the  laws  of  the  college,  and  to  be  examples  to 
the  younger  members  of  the  society,  and  especially  to 
maintain  that  collegiate  unity  which  cannot  subsist  without 
religious  communion. 

He  felt  that  there  was  something  like  hollow  mockery 
and  profane  hypocrisy  in  this.  He  resented  it  as  an 
affront  to  himself  and  to  his  fellow  students,  as  members 
of  the  academic  body.  And,  as  is  often  the  case  with 
ardent  and  enthusiastic  minds,  he  charged  the  institution 
with  the  sins  of  those  who  professed  to  administer  its 
laws,  but  in  practice  violated  them.  He  would  have 
visited  the  offences  of  its  governors  on  the  system  which 
they  abused.  He  would  have  suspended  the  daily  ser- 
vice in  the  college  chapels,  because  some  of  the  fellows 
betrayed  their  trust,  and  neglected  those  services,  and 
Jed  self-indulgent  or  irreligious  lives. 

In  maturer  years,  he  revised  his  opinion  in  this  impor- 
tant respect,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter :  he  learnt  and 
taught  that  every  system,  however  good,  is  liable  to 
abuse  ;  and  that  when  what  is  good  is  abused,  the  abuse 
afibrds  no  ground  for  its  destruction;  but  that,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  the  work  of  patience,  charity,  and  wis- 
dom, to  endeavour  to  remove  the  abuse,  and  restore  the 

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48  COLLEGE   LIFE. 

true  use  of  that  which  has  heen  ahused.  This  he  knew 
to  he  the  vital  principle  of  all  genuine  reform ;  and  he 
taught  also  that  no  education  is  worthy  of  the  name 
which  does  not  look  for  habitual  strength  and  support  in 
divine  grace  given  to  united  prayer. 

In  his  maturer  years,  instead  of  desiring  the  cessation 
of  daily  services  where  they  existed,  he  deplored  it  where 
they  had  been  disused.     He  regretted  the  ancient  times  of 

'  Matrons  and  sires,  —  who,  punctual  to  the  call 
Of  their  loved  Church,  on  fast  and  festival, 
Through  the  long  year,  the  house  of  prayer  would  seek ; 
By  Christmas  snows,  by  visitation  bleak 
Of  Easter  winds  unscared '  * 

In  another  respect,  also,  he  modified  his  judgment  with 
regard  to  the  university.  While  he  was  an  under^gradu- 
ate,  his  mind  was  not  in  harmony  with  the  studies  of  the 
place.  He  did  not  tread  in  the  beaten  path,  prescribed 
by  academic  authority,  and  leading  to  academic  distinc- 
tions. He  appears  to  have  indulged  a  feeling  of  intel- 
lectual pride  in  taking  a  devious  course  —  much  to  the 
disappointment  of  his  relatives  and  friends.  His  last 
summer  vacation  was  not  spent  amid  his  books,  but 
among  the  Alps.  The  week  before  he  took  his  degree 
he  passed  his  time  in  reading  Clarissa  Harlowe.  But  in 
later  years  his  view  was  changed.  To  one  of  his  ne- 
phews, an  under- graduate,  he  said, '  Do  not  trouble  your- 
self with  reading  modern  authors  at  present;  confine 
your  attention  to  ancient  classical  writers  ;  make  yourself 
master  of  them  :  and  when  you  have  done  that,  you  will 
come  down  to  us  ;  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  judge  us 
according  to  our  deserts.'  And  he  wrote  a  very  earnest 
letter  to  one  of  his  intimate  friends,  Mr.  Clarkson,  on 

*  See  Sonnet  on  '  Decay  of  Piety,'  vol.  ii.  p.  271 . 

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COLLEGE   LIFE.  49 

hearing  that  his  son  did  not  intend  to  be  a  candidate  for 
university  honours ;  and  he  there  expresses  his  regret  at 
that  intelligence,  and  endeavours  to  induce  the  young  stu- 
dent to  change  his  intention,  and  to  devote  himself  to  the 
studies,  and  to  contend  for  the  honours,  of  the  university. 
The  academic  life  of  an  undergraduate,  especially  one 
so  gifted  as  William  Wordsworth,  who  feels  that  he  is 
'  not  for  that  hour,  nor  for  that  place,'  ^  is  rarely  a  profit- 
able or  a  happy  one.  He  is  inwardly  dissatisfied,'and  ill 
at  ease.  He  is  liable  to  fall  into  a  lower  grade  of  so- 
ciety; to  squander  his  time  on  aimless  projects  and 
desultory  pursuits ;  to  contract  irregular  habits ;  to  cherish 

'  A  treasonable  growth 
Of  indecisive  judgments,  that  impair 
And  shake  the  mind's  simplicity ; '  * 

and  to  become  familiar  with  scenes  which  are  unfavourable 
to  his  moral  progress,  and  prey  on  his  inward  strength. 
His  aspirations  decline  ;  and,  being  discontented  with  his 
own  position,  he  is  apt  to  look  with  sour  and  splenetic 
suUenness  on  the  laws  of  the  institution  in  which  he  lives. 
The  mind  of  Wordsworth  was  indeed  cheered  at  Cam- 
bridge, the  '  garden  of  great  intellects,'  by  visions  of  the 
illustrious  dead,  who  had  been  trained  in  that  university  — 
Chaucer,  Spenser,  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,^  Cowley,  Dryden ; 
and  he  resorted  with  delight  to  the  groves  and  walks, 
especially  those  of  St.  John's, 

'  Whenever  free  to  choose 
Did  I  by  night  frequent  the  college  groves 
And  tributary  walks  j '  * 

and  he  describes  one  venerable  tree,  now  no  more,  in 

»  Prelude,  p.  58.  «  Ibid.  64.  »  Prelude,  p.  67. 

*  Ibid.  p.  138. 

VOL.  I.  4 


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50  GOLLSGE  LIFB. 

those  walks,  which,  on  successive  sojourns  at  Cambridge, 
he  never  failed  to  visit  with  feelings  of  affection. 

But  it  is  remarkable,  that  while  his  school  and  school 
days  had  produced  poetic  fruits,  and  while  his  extant 
writings  abound  with  beautiful  and  grateful  allusions  to 
the  scenes  of  his  infancy  and  boyhood,  scarce  a  single 
line  appears  to  have  been  suggested  by  his  residence  at 
Cambridge,  while  he  was  at  the  university.  His  '  Even- 
ing Walk,'  *  was,  indeed,  composed  during  the  academic 
period,  but  none  of  its  imagery  is  derived  from  academic 
scenes.  The  only  verses  which  are  known  to  have  been 
produced  by  him  at  Cambridge  are  those  '  written  while 
sailing  m  a  boat  at  evening."*  ^  These  were  composed  on 
the  Cam.* 

Upon  the  whole,  the  Poet's  reminiscences  of  his  college 
life  are  of  a  melancholy  cast.  They  are  characterized 
by  the  sternness  of  an  Archilochus,  mingled  with  the  sad- 
ness of  a  Simonides.  It  was  reserved  to  his  later  days  to 
write  those  two  noble  sonnets  ^  on  King's  College  Chapel, 
Cambridge,  and  to  characterize  the  universities  of  Eng- 
land, as 

*  The  sacred  nurseries  of  blooming  youth, 
In  whose  collegiate  shelter  England's  flowers 
Expand ;  enjoying  through  their  vernal  hours 
The  air  of  Liberty,  the  light  of  Truth.'  * 


»  Vol.  i.  p.  2-14.  «  Vol.  i.  p.  14. 

8  Eccles.  Sonnets,  vol.  iv.  p.  121. 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  297,  Misc.  Sonnets,  part  iii.  Sonnet  ii.  written  May, 
1820. 

*  [It  may  be  remembered  that  Milton  complains  of  the  shadeless 
fields  and  sedgy  pools  of  Cambridge  (Eleg.  1,  Ad.  Car,  Deodatum)  : 
Gray,  in  one  of  his  letters,  speaks  of  '  the  quiet  ugliness  of  Cam- 


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COLLEGE   LIFE.  51 

His  portrait  now  graces  the  walls  of  St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge ;  and  his  reception  at  Oxford,  when  the  de- 
gree of  D.  C.  L.  was  conferred  upon  him  in  the  year 
1839,  was  one  of  the  most  enthusiastic  that  was  ever 
given  to  any  of  those  whom  that  noble  university  has 
delighted  to  honour. 

bridge':  Sir  Egerton  Brydges,  of  'the  dullness  of  the  ready 
Cam '  (Life  of  Milton) :  and  a  living  poet,  The  Rev.  Joha 
Moultrie,  has  been  quoted  on  this  subject,  speaking  of  a  small 
town  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Cambridge,  as 

'  Madingley,  sole  village  from  the  plague 
Of  ugliness,  in  that  drear  land,  exempt.'  —  h.  r.] 


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CHAPTER   VII. 

COLLEGE   VACATIONS. 

Univeesitt  life  in  England  is  diversified  and  relieved 
by  vacations,  of  which  that  which  recurs  in  the  summer 
months  is  of  sufficient  length  to  afford  a  complete  change 
of  scene  to  the  mind  of  the  student.  This  is  of^en  a 
fortunate  circumstance,  and  it  was  particularly  so  in  the 
case  of  William  Wordsworth.  If  his  university  course 
had  been  continued  with  little  and  brief  intermission 
throughout  the  year,  or  if  he  had  spent  his  vacations  at 
Cambridge,  it  is  probable  that  the  influences  derived  from 
early  familiarity  with  the  grand  and  beautiful  operations 
of  nature,  which  had  given  vigour  and  independence  to  his 
intellect,  and  fervour  to  his  imagination,  would  have  be- 
come feebler  and  feebler,  and  that  his  spiritual  and  moral 
being  would  have  declined  in  dignity,  and  have  been 
impaired  in  strength. 

Happily  for  him,  he  returned  for  his  first  summer  vaca- 
tion, in  1788,  to  his  beloved  vale  of  Esthwaite.  The 
young  collegian  lodged  in  the  same  house,  and  slept  in 
the  same  bed,  as  that  which  he  had  occupied  when  a 
schoolboy.  He  revisited  his  old  haunts.  The  spirit  of 
the  lake  and  the  vale,  —  the  fresh  air  of  the  woods,  and 
fields,  and  mountains,  —  breathed  new  life  into  his  soul. 
He  derived  new  buoyancy  and  energy  from  the  scenes  of 
his  early  days,  as  one  who  has  long  been  languishing  on 
a  bed  of  sickness  drinks  in  health  from  the  breezes  of 
some  beautiful  region  in  which  he  was  born. 

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COLLEGE   VACATIONS.  53 

The  revivifying  effects  of  this  natural  agency  are 
described  by  Wordsworth  in  the  fourth  book  of  his  auto- 
biographical poem : 

*  When  from  our  better  selves  we  have  too  long 
Been  parted  by  the  hurrying  world,  and  droop, 
Sick  of  its  business,  of  its  pleasures  tired, 
How  gracious,  how  benign  is  solitude ! '  * 

And,  describing  the  effect  of  one  of  his  walks  at  early 
dawn  at  this  time,  and  in  this  country,  he  says, 

*  My  heart  was  full  j  I  made  no  vows,  but  vows 
Were  then  made  for  me  ;  bond  unknown  to  me 
Was  given,  that  I  should  be,  else  sinning  greatly, 
A  dedicated  Spirit.    On  I  walked 
In  thankful  blessedness,  which  yet  survives.'  • 

Portions  of  his  vacations  were  spent  in  other  beautiful 
parts  of  England.  His  mother's  relatives  resided  at  Pen- 
rith, on  the  southern  frontier  of  Cumberland.  Here  he 
was  restored  to  the  society  of  his  sister,  and  of  her  who 
was  one  day  to  be  nearer  to  him  than  a  sister.3  He 
enjoyed  with  them  those  delightful  scenes  by  which  Pen- 
rith is  surrounded.  He  mounted  the  Border  Beacon, 
on  the  north-east  of  the  town ;  and  on  that  eminence,  now 
overgrown  with  fir-trees  which  intercept  the  view,  but 
which  was  then  free  and  open,  and  displayed  a  glorious 
panorama,  he  beheld  the  wide  plain  stretched  far  and 
near  below,  closed  by  the  dark  hills  of  Ulleswater  on  the 
west,  and  by  the  dim  ridges  of  Scotland  on  the  north. 

The  road  from  Penrith  towards  Appleby,  on  the  south- 
east, passes,  at  about  a  mile's  distance,  the  romantic  ruins 
of  that 

»  Prelude,  p.  99.  «  Ibid.  p.  99.  3  Ibid.  p.  144,  145. 

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-    I 


'54  COLLE&E  TACATIOHS. 

'  monastic  castle,  mid  tall  trees, 
Lowstanding  by  the  margin  of  the  stream.'  * 

where  the  river  Lowther  flows  into  the  Emont,  which 
descends  from  the  lake  of  UUeswater  through  a  beautiful 
and  fertile  valley,  in  which,  at  the  village  of  Sockbridge, 
some  of  Wordsworth's  ancestors  lived,  and  where,  at  the 
church  of  Barton,  some  of  them  lie  buried. 

That  'monastic  castle'  is  Brougham  Castle,  a  noble 
and  picturesque  ruin.  This  was  a  favourite  resort  of  the 
youthful  Poet  and  his  sister : 

'  Those  mouldering  towers 
Have  seen  us  side  by  side,  when  having  clomfo 
The  darksome  windings  of  a  broken  stair, 
And  crept  along  a  ridge  of  fractured  wall, 
Not  without  trembling,  we  in  safety  looked 
Forth,  throilgh  some  Gothic  window's  open  space. 
And  gathered,  with  one  mind,  a  rich  reward 
From  the  far-stretching  landscape,  by  the  light 
Of  morning  beautified,  or  purple  eve.' ' 

In  after  times,  this  castle  was  to  be  the  subject  of  one  of 
his  noblest  lyrical  effusions,  the  'Song  at  the  Feast  of 
Brougham  Castle :  * 

'  High  in  the  breathless  hall  the  minstrel  sate. 
And  Emont's  murmur  mingled  with  the  song.'  s 

A  little  beyond  the  castle,  by  the  road-side,  stands  the 
Countess'  Pillar,  a  record  of  filial  affection  and  Christian 
charity,  to  which  also  he  has  paid  a  poetical  tribute  ;-« 
and  the  woods  of  Lowther,  at  a  short  distance  on  the 
south,  were  ever  associated  in  his  memory  with  the  de- 
lightful days  which  he  passed  in  his  vacations  at  Penrith, 

»  Prelude,  p.  143.  «  Ibid.  p.  144.  3  Vol.  ii.  p.  144. 

*  Vol.  iii.  p.  236. 

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COLLEGE  VACATIONS.  55 

and  were  afterwards  the  scene  of  intellectual  enjoyment 
in  the  society  of  the  noble  family  whose  name  they  bear. 
A  remarkable  person,  and  one  connected  by  friendship 
with  the  Poet,  lived,  between  Penrith  and  Lowther,  at 
Yanwath.  This  was  Mr.  Thomas  Wilkinson,  a  quaker,  a 
poet,  a  professor  of  the  topiarian  art,  a  designer  of  walks, 
prospects,  and  pleasure-grounds. 

'  Spade !  with  which  Wilkinson  hath  tilled  his  lands, 
And  shaped  these  pleasant  walks  by  Emont's  side/ ' 

and  the  verses  which  follow,  will  hand  down  the  name  of 
Wilkinson  to  posterity,  together  with  that  of  John  Evelyn, 
and  the  Corycian  old  man  of  Virgil. 

William  Wordsworth's  last  summer  college-vacation 
was  spent  in  a  pedestrian  tour  in  France.  He  was 
accompanied  by  his  friend  and  brother  collegian,  Kobert 
Jones,  of  Plas-yn-Uan,  near  Ruthin,  in  Denbighshire,  and 
afterwards  a  fellow  of  St.  John's  College,  and  incumbent 
of  Souldeme,  near  Deddington,  in  Oxfordshire,  the  par- 
sonage of  which  is  so  happily  described  in  the  sonnet  — 

'  Where  holy  ground  begins,  unhallowed  ends, 
Is  marked  by  no  distinguishable  line.'  > 

The  character  of  Mr.  Jones  was  drawn  by  the  Poet  in  the 
lines  beginning 

'  I  marvel  how  Nature  could  ever  find  space 
For  so  many  strange  contrasts  in  one  human  face.'  s 

The  tourists  quitted  Dover  for  Calais  on  July  13th, 
1790,  —  a  memorable  era  in  the  history  of  the  French 
Revolution,  —  the  eve  of  the  day  when  the  king  took  an 
oath  of  fidelity  to  the  new  constitution. 

1  Vol.  iv.  p.  202.  «  Vol.  ii.  p.  300.  »  Vol.  iv.  p.  183. 

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56 


COLLEGE   VACATIONS. 


'  JoiTEs !  as  from  Calais  southward  yon  and  I  * 
Went  pacing  side  by  side,  this  public  way 
Streamed  with  the  pomp  of  a  too  credulous  day, 
"When  faith  was  pledged  to  new-bom  liberty/  * 

A  letter  has  been  preserved,  addressed  to  his  sister,  which 
describes  some  of  the  impressions  made  by  this  tour ;  and 
it  will  be  read  with  interest  as  a  record  of  his  feelings,  and 
a  specimen  of  his  style,  at  that  period  of  his  life :  ^  — 

*  Vol.  iii.  p.  54 ;  see  also  Prelude,  p.  149. 
s  The  route  of  the  tourists  was  as  follows :  — 


July 

Aug. 

13.  Calais. 

7.  Town  in  Savoy. 

14.  Ardres. 

8.  Town  on  T<ake  of  Geneva. 

17.  Peronne. 

9.  Lausanne. 

18.  Village  near  Cou^y. 

10.  Villeneuve. 

19.  Soissons. 

11.  St.  Maurice  in  the  Valais. 

20.  Chateau  Thierry. 

12.  Chamouny. 

21.  Sezanne. 

13.  Chamouny. 

22.  Village  near  Troyes. 

14.  Martigny. 

23.  Bar  le  Due. 

15.  Village  beyond  Sion. 

24.  Chatillon  sur  Seine. 

16.  Brig. 

26.  Nuits. 

17.  Spital  on  Alps. 

27.  Chalons. 

18.  Morgozza. 

28.  CMlons. 

19.  Village  beyond  Lago  Mag- 

29.  On  the  Saone. 

giore. 

30.  Lyons. 

20.  Village  on  Lago  di  Como.                   1 

31.  Condrieu. 

21.  Village  beyond  Gravedona. 

22.  Jones  at  Chiavenna ;  W.  W. 

Aug. 

at  Samolaco. 

^  1.  Moreau. 

23.  Sovozza. 

2.  Voreppe. 

24.  Splugen. 

3.  Village  near  Chartreuse. 

25.  Flems.                                                  ' 

4.  Chartreuse. 

26.  Dissentis. 

e.Aix. 

27.  Village  on  the  Reuss. 

*  [This  was  a  life-long  friendship,  to  which  Wordsworth  paid 
a  feeling  tribute  after  his  friend's  death,  in  a  note  to  this  sonnet 
in  the  later  editions.    See  post,  Vol.  ii.  Chap.  xlii.  note.  —  h.  r.] 

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COLL£G1S  VACATIOHS. 


&7 


*Sqft.  6, 1790,  KesnnU  (a  small  village  on  the 
Liike  of  Constance.') 
*  My  dear  Sister, 

*  My  last  letter  was  addressed  to  you  from  St.  Valier 
and  the  Grande  Chartreuse.  I  have,  since  that  period, 
gone  over  a  very  considerable  tract  of  country,  and  I  will 
give  you  a  sketch  of  my  route  as  far  as  relates  to  men- 
tioning places  where  I  have  been,  after  I  have  assured  you 
that  I  am  in  excellent  health  and  spirits,  and  have  had  no 
reason  to  complain  of  the  contrary  during  our  whole  tour. 
My  spirits  have  been  kept  in  a  perpetual  hurry  of  delight, 
by  the  almost  uninterrupted  succession  of  sublime  and 


Aug. 

28.  Fluelan. 

29.  Laceme. 

30.  Village  on  Lake  of  Zurich. 

31.  Einsiedeln. 
Sept. 

1.  Glaris. 

2.  Glaris. 

3.  Village  beyond   Lake  of 

Wallenstadt. 

4.  Village  on  road  to  Appen- 

zell. 

5.  Appenzell. 

6.  Keswillj  on  Lake  of  Con- 

stance. 

7.  On  the  Rhine. 

8.  On  the  Rhine. 

9.  On  road  to  Lucerne. 

10.  Lucerne. 

11.  Saxeln. 

12.  Village  on  the  Aar. 


Sept. 

13.  Grindelwald. 

14.  Lauterbrunnen. 

15.  Village  three  leagues  from 

Berne. 

16.  Avranches.        , 

19.  Village  beyond   Pierre  Per- 

tuises. 

20.  Village  four  leagues  from 

Basle. 

21.  Basle. 

22.  Town  six  leagues  from  Stras- 

burg. 

23.  Spires. 

24.  Village  on  Rhine. 

26.  Mentz. 

27.  Village  on  Rhine,  two  leagues 

from  Coblentz. 

28.  Cologne. 

29.  Village  three    leagues   from 

Aix-la-Chapelle. 


No  further  memoranda.  The  pedestrians  bought  a  boat  at 
BaslC;  and  therein  floated  down  the  Rhine  as  far  as  Cologne, 
having  intended  so  to  travel  to  Ostend,  but  they  returned  by 
Calais. 


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58  COLLEGE  VACATIONS. 

beautiful  objects  which  have  passed  before  my  eyes 
during  the  course  of  the  last  month.  I  will  endeavour  to 
give  you  some  idea  of  our  route.  It  will  be  utterly  impos- 
sible for  me  to  dwell  upon  particular  scenes,  as  my  paper 
would  be  exhausted  before  I  had  done  with  the  journey  of 
two  or  three  days.  On  quitting  the  Grande  Chartreuse, 
where  we  remained  two  days,  contemplating,  with  in- 
creased pleasure,  its  wonderful  scenery,  we  passed 
through  Savoy  to  Geneva;  thence,  along  the  Pays  de 
Vaud  side  of  the  lake,  to  Villeneuve,  a  small  town  seated 
at  its  head.  The  lower  part  of  the  lake  did  not  afford  us 
a  pleasure  equal  to  what  might  have  been  expected  from 
its  celebrity  ;  this  owing  partly  to  its  width,  and  partly  to 
the  weather,  which  was  one  of  those  hot  gleamy  days  in 
which  all  distant  objects  are  veiled  in  a  species  of  bright 
obscurity.  But  the  highet  part  of  the  lake  made  us  ample 
amends :  'tis  true  we  had  some  disagreeable  weather,  but 
the  banks  of  the  water  are  infinitely  more  picturesque, 
and,  as  it  is  much  narrower,  the  landscape  suffered  pro- 
portionally less  from  that  pale  steam  which  before  almost 
entirely  hid  the  opposite  shore.  From  Villeneuve  we 
proceeded  up  the  Rhone  to  Martigny,  where  we  left  our 
bundles,  and  struck  over  the  mountains  to  Chamouny,  and 
visited  the  glaciers  of  Savoy.  You  have  undoubtedly 
heard  of  these  celebrated  scenes,  but  if  you  have  not 
read  about  them,  any  description  which  I  have  room  to 
give  you  must  be  altogether  inadequate.  Afler  passing 
two  days  in  the  environs  of  Chamouny,  we  returned  to 
Martigny,  and  pursued  our  mount  up  the  Valais,  along 
the  Rhine,  to  Brig.  At  Brig  we  quitted  the  Valais,  and 
passed  the  Alps  at  the  Simplon,  in  order  to  visit  part  of 
Italy.  The  impressions  of  three  hours  of  our  walk  among 
these  Alps  will  never  be  effaced.  From  Duomo  d'Ossola, 
a  town  of  Italy  which  lay  in  our  route,  we  proceeded  to 

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COLLEGE  TACAT2W0.  9 

the  lake  of  Locarno,  to  visit  the  Boromean  Islands,  and 
thence  to  Como.  A  more  charming  path  was  scarcely 
ever  travelled  over.  The  hanks  of  many  of  the  Italian 
and  Swiss  lakes  are  so  steep  and  rocky,  as  not  to  admit  of 
Toads ;  that  of  Como  is  partly  of  this  character.  A  small 
foot-path  is  all  the  communication  by  land  between  one 
village  and  another,  on  the  side  along  which  we  passed, 
for  upwards  of  thirty  miles.  We  entered  upon  this  path 
about  noon,  and,  owing  to  the  steepness  of  the  banks, 
were  soon  unmolested  by  the  sun,  which  illuminated  the 
woods,  rocks,  and  villages  of  the  opposite  shore.  The 
lake  is  narrow,  and  the  shadows  of  the  mountains  were 
early  thrown  across  it.  It  was  beautiful  to  watch  them 
travelling  up  the  side  of  the  hills,  —  for  several  hours  to 
remark  one  half  of  a  village  covered  with  shade,  and  the 
other  bright  with  the  strongest  sunshine.  It  was  with 
regret  that  we  passed  every  turn  of  this  charming  path, 
where  every  new  picture  was  purchased  by  the  loss  of 
another  which  we  should  never  have  been  tired  of  gazing 
upon.  The  shores  of  the  lake  consist  of  steeps  covered 
with  large,  sweeping  woods  of  chestnut,  spotted  with  vil- 
lages ;  some  clinging  from  the  summits  of  the  advancing 
rocks,  and  others  hiding  themselves  within  their  recesses. 
Nor  was  the  surface  of  the  lake  less  interesting  than  its 
shores ;  half  of  it  glowing  with  the  richest  green  and 
gold,  the  reflection  of  the  illuminated  wood  and  path, 
shaded  with  a  soft  blue  tint.  The  picture  was  still  further 
diversified  by  the  number  of  sails  which  stole  lazily  by  us 
as  we  paused  in  the  wood  above  them.  After  all  this  we 
bad  the  moon.  It  was  impossible  not  to  contrast  that  re- 
pose, that  complacency  of  spirit,  produced  by  these  lovely 
scenes,  with  the  sensations  I  had  experienced  two  or  three 
days  before,  in  passing  the  Alps.  At  the  lake  of  Como, 
my  mind  ran  through  a  thousand  dreams  of  happiness. 

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so  COtiLEGB  VACATIONS. 

which  might  he  enjoyed  upon  its  banks,  if  heightened  by 
conversation  and  the  exercise  of  the  social  affections. 
Among  the  more  awful  scenes  of  the  Alps,  I  had  not  a 
thought  of  man,  or  a  single  created  being ;  my  whole  soul 
was  turned  to  Him  who  produced  the  terrible  majesty 
before  me.  But  I  am  too  particular  for  the  limits  of  my 
paper. 

^  We  followed  the  lake  of  Como  to  its  head,  and  thence 
proceeded  to  Chiavenna,  where  we  began  to  pass  a  range 
of  the  Alps,  which  brought  us  into  the  country  of  the 
Grisons  at  Sovozza.  From  Sovozza  we  pursued  the  val- 
ley of  Myssen,  in  which  it  is  situated,  to  its  head ;  passed 
Mount  Adula  to  Hinter  Rhine,  a  small  village  near  one  of 
the  sources  of  the  Rhine.  We  pursued  this  branch  of  the 
Rhine  downward  through  the  Grisons  to  Michenem,  where 
we  turned  up  tiie  other  branch  of  the  same  river,  and  fol- 
lowing it  to  Chiamut,  a  small  village  near  its  source. 
Here  we  quitted  the  Grisons,  and  entered  Switzerland  at 
the  valley  of  Urseren,  and  pursued  the  course  of  the 
Reuss  down  to  Altorf ;  thence  we  proceeded,  partly  upon 
the  lake  and  partly  behind  the  mountains  on  its  banks,  to 
Lucerne,  and  thence  to  Zurich.  From  Zurich,  along  the 
banks  of  the  lake,  we  continued  our  roiite  to  Richtens- 
chwyl :  here  we  left  the  lake  to  visit  the  famous  church 
and  convent  of  Einsiedeln,  and  thence  to  Glaris.  But  this 
catalogue  must  be  shockingly  tedious.  Suffice  it  to  say, 
that,  after  passing  a  day  in  visiting  the  romantic  valley  of 
Glaris,  we  proceeded  by  the  lake  of  Wallenstadt,  and  the 
canton  of  Appenzell  to  the  lake  of  Constance,  where  this 
letter  was  begun  nine  days  ago.  From  Constance  we  pro- 
ceeded along  the  banks  of  the  Rhine  to  Schaffhausen,  to 
view  the  falls  of  the  Rhine  there.  Magnificent  as  this  fall 
certainly  is,  I  must  confess  I  was  disappointed  in  it.  I 
had  raised  my  ideas  too  high. 

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COLLBG£  VACATIONS.  61 

^  We  followed  the  Rhine  downward  about  eight  leagues 
from  Schaffhausen,  where  we  crossed  it,  and  proceeded 
by  Baden  to  Lucerne.  I  am  at  this  present  moment 
(14th  September)  writing  at  a  small  village  on  the  road 
from  Grindelwald  to  Lauterbrunnen.  By  consulting  your 
maps,  you  will  find  these  villages  in  the  south-east  part  of 
the  canton  of  Berne,  not  far  from  the  lakes  of  Thun  and 
Brientz.  After  viewing  the  valley  of  Lauterbrunnen,  we 
shall  have  concluded  our  tour  of  the  more  Alpine  part  of 
Switzerland.  We  proceed  thence  to  Berne,  and  intend, 
after  making  two  or  three  small  excursions  about  the  lake 
of  Neufchatel,  to  go  to  Basle,  a  town  in  Switzerland,  upon 
the  Rhine,  whence  we  shall,  if  we  find  we  can  afford  it, 
take  advantage  of  the  river  down  to  Cologne,  and  so  cross 
to  Ostend,  where  we  shall  take  the  packet  to  Margate. 
To-day  is  the  14th  of  September ;  and  I  hope  we  shall  be 
in  England  by  the  10th  of  October.  I  have  had,  during 
the  course  of  this  delightful  tour,  a  great  deal  of  uneasi- 
ness from  an  apprehension  of  your  anxiety  on  my  account. 
I  have  thought  of  you  perpetually ;  and  never  have  my 
eyes  burst  upon  a  scene  of  particular  loveliness,  but  I 
have  almost  instantly  wished  that  you  could  for  a  moment 
be  transported  to  the  place  where  I  stood  to  enjoy  it.  I 
have  been  more  particularly  induced  to  form  those  wishes, 
because  the  scenes  of  Switzerland  have  no  resemblance 
to  any  I  have  found  in  England;  consequently  it  may 
probably  never  be  in  your  power  to  form  an  idea  of  them. 
We  are  now,  as  I  observed  above,  upon  the  point  of  quit- 
ting these  most  sublime  and  beautiful  parts;  and  you 
cannot  imagine  the  melancholy  regret  which  I  feel  at  the 
idea.  I  am  a  perfect  enthusiast  in  my  admiration  of 
nature  in  all  her  various  forms ;  and  I  have  looked  upon, 
and,  as  it  were,  conversed  with,  the  objects  which  this 
country  has  presented  to  my  view  so  long,  and  with  such 

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6^  COLLXCfi   VACATIONS. 

increasing  pleasure,  that  the  idea  of  parting  from  them 
oppresses  me  with  a  sadness  similar  to  what  I  have  always 
felt  in  quitting  a  beloved  friend. 

*  There  is  no  reason  to  be  surprised  at  the  strong  attach- 
ment which  the  Swiss  have  always  shown  to  their  native 
country.  Much  of  it  must  undoubtedly  have  been  owing 
to  those  charms  which  have  already  produced  so  powerful 
an  effect  upon  me,  and  to  which  the  rudest  minds  cannot 
possibly  be  indifferent.  Ten  thousand  times  in  the  course 
of  this  tour  have  I  regretted  the  inability  of  my  memory 
to  retain  a  more  strong  impression  of  the  beautiful  forms 
before  me ;  and  again  and  again,  in  quitting  a  fortunate 
station,  have  I  returned  to  it  with  the  most  eager  avidity, 
in  the  hope  of  bearing  away  a  more  lively  picture.  At 
this  moment,  when  many  of  these  landscapes  are  floating 
before  my  mind,  I  feel  a  high  enjoyment  in  reflecting  that 
perhaps  scarcely  a  day  of  my  life  will  pass  in  which  I 
shall  not  derive  some  happiness  from  these  images. 

*  With  regard  to  the  manners  of  the  inhabitants  of  this 
singular  country,  the  impressions  which  we  have  had  often 
occasion  to  receive  have  been  unfavourable ;  but  it  must 
be  remembered  that  we  have  had  little  to  do  but  with  inn- 
keepers, and  those  corrupted  by  perpetual  intercourse  with 
strangers.  Had  we  been  able  to  speak  the  language, 
which  is  German,  and  had  we  time  to  insinuate  ourselves 
into  their  cottages,  we  should  probably  have  had  as  much 
occasion  to  admire  the  simplicity  of  their  lives  as  the 
beauties  of  their  country.  My  partiality  to  Switzerland, 
excited  by  its  natural  charms,  induces  me  to  hope  that  the 
manners  of  the  inhabitants  are  amiable ;  but  at  the  same 
time  I  cannot  help  frequently  comparing  them  with  those 
of  the  French,  and,  as  far  as  I  have  had  opportunity  to 
observe,  they  lose  very  much  by  the  comparison.  We  not 
only  found  the  French  a  much  less  imposing  people,  but 

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COLLEGE  VACATIONS.  63 

that  politeness  diffused  through  the  lowest  ranks  had  an  air 
so  engaging  that  you  could  scarce  attribute  it  to  any  other 
cause  than  real  benevolence.  During  the  time,  which  was 
near  a  month,  that  we  were  in  France,  we  had  not  once  to 
complain  of  the  smallest  deficiency  in  courtesy  in  any 
person,  much  less  of  any  positive  rudeness.  We  had 
also  perpetual  occasion  to  observe  that  cheerfulness  and 
sprightliness  for  which  the  French  have  always  been 
remarkable.  But  I  must  remind  you  that  we  crossed  at 
the  time  when  the  whole  nation  was  mad  with  joy  in  con- 
sequence of  the  revolution.  It  was  a  most  interesting 
period  to  be  in  France ;  and  we  had  many  delightful 
scenes,  where  the  interest  of  the  picture  was  owing  solely 
to  this  cause.  I  was  also  much  pleased  with  what  I  saw 
of  the  Italians  during  the  short  time  we  were  among 
them.  We  had  several  times  occasion  to  observe  a  soft- 
ness and  elegance  which  contrasted  strongly  with  the 
severe  austereness  of  their  neighbours  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Alps.  It  was  with  pleasure  I  observed,  at  a  small  inn 
on  the  lake  of  Como,  the  master  of  it  playing  upon  his 
harpsichord,  with  a  large  collection  of  Italian  music  about 
him.  The  outside  of  the  instrument  was  such  that  it 
would  not  much  have  graced  an  English  drawing-room  ; 
but  the  tones  that  he  drew  from  it  were  by  no  means 
contemptible. 

^  But  it  is  time  to  talk  about  England.  When  you  write 
to  my  brothers,  I  must  beg  of  you  to  give  my  love,  and 
tell  them  I  am  sorry  it  has  not  been  in  my  p6wer  to  write 
to  them.  Kit  will  be  surprised  he  has  not  heard  from  me, 
as  we  were  almost  upon  terms  of  regular  correspondence. 
I  had  not  heard  from  Richard  for  some  time  before  I  set 
out.  I  did  not  call  upon  him  when  I  was  in  London ;  not 
so  much  because  we  were  determined  to  hurry  through 
London,  but  because  he,  as  many  of  our  friends  at  Cam- 
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64  COLLEGE   VACATIONS. 

bridge  did,  would  look  upon  our  scheme  as  mad  and  im- 
practicable. I  expect  great  pleasure,  on  my  return  to 
Cambridge,  in  exulting  over  those  of  my  friends  who 
threatened  us  with*  such  an  accumulation  of  difficulties  as 
must  undoubtedly  render  it  impossible  for  us  to  perform 
the  tour.  Every  thing,  however,  has  succeeded  with  us 
far  beyond  my  most  sanguine  expectations.  We  have,  it 
is  true,  met  with  little  disasters  occasionally,  but  far  from 
distressing,  and  they  rather  gave  us  additional  resolution 
and  spirits.  We  have  both  enjoyed  most  excellent  health ; 
and  we  have  been  so  inured  to  walking,  that  we  are 
become  almost  insensible  to  fatigue.  We  have  several 
times  performed  a  journey  of  thirteen  leagues  over  the 
most  mountainous  parts  of  Switzerland  without  any  more 
weariness  than  if  we  had  been  walking  an  hour  in  the 
groves  of  Cambridge.  Our  appearance  is  singular ;  and 
we  have  often  observed,  that,  in  passing  through  a  village, 
we  have  excited  a  general  smile.  Our  coats,  which  we 
had  made  light  on  purpose  for  the  journey,  are  of  the 
same  piece ;  and  our  manner  of  carrying  our  bundles, 
which  is  upon  our  heads,  with  each  an  oak  stick  in  our 
hands,  contributes  not  a  little  to  that  general  curiosity 
which  we  seem  to  excite.  But  I  find  I  have  again 
relapsed  into  egotism,  and  must  here  entreat  you,  ncft  only 
to  pardon  this  fault,  but  also  to  make  allowance  for  the 
illegible  hand  and  desultory  style  of  this  letter.  It  has 
been  written,  as  you  will  see  by  its  different  shades,  at 
many  sittings,  and  is,  in  fact,  the  produce  of  most  of  the 
leisure  which  I  have  had  since  it  was  begun,  and  is  now 
finally  drawing  to  a  conclusion,  it  being  on  the  16th  of 
September.  I  flatter  myself  still  with  the  hope  of  seeing 
you  for  a  fortnight  or  three  weeks,  if  it  be  agreeable  to 
my  uncle,  as  there  will  be  no  necessity  for  me  to  be  in 
Cambridge   before  the    10th  of  November.     I  shall  be 

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COLLBGE   VACATIONS.  65 

better  able  to  judge  whether  I  am  likely  to  eojoy  this 
pleasure  in  about  three  weeks.  I  shall  probably  write  to 
you  again  before  I  quit  France ;  if  not,  most  certainly 
immediately  on  my  landing  in  England.  You  will  re- 
member me  affectionately  to  my  uncle  and  aunt :  as  he 
was  acquainted  with  my  giving  up  all  thoughts  of  a  fel- 
lowship, he  may,  perhaps,  not  be  so  much  displeased  at 
this  journey.  I  should  be  sorry  if  I  have  ofiended  him  by 
it.  I  hope  my  little  cousin  is  well.  I  must  now  bid  you 
adieu,  with  assuring  you  that  you  are  perpetually  in  my 
thoughts,  and  that 

*I  remain, 

*  Most  affectionately  yours, 
*  W.  Wordsworth. 

*  On  looking  over  this  letter,  I  am  afraid  you  will  not 
be  able  to  read  half  of  it.  I  must  again  beg  you  to 
excuse  me. 

'Miss  WiffHsnorthf 

Rev,  Wm,  Cooksan^s, 

Lang  StretUm,  Norfolk, 
L^AngkterreJ 

This  tour  supplied  material  for  a  portion  of  his  auto- 
biographical poem,  with  which  the  reader  is  supposed  to 
be  familiar.^  It  also  furnished  the  subject  for  a  poem, 
entitled  '  Descriptive  Sketches,'  •  written  in  1791  and  '92, 

'  See  Prelude,  book  vi. 

•  [These  poems  were  published  in  qaarto,  and  have  an  old- 
iashioned  look,  which  connects  them  with  the  publications  of  the 
last  century.  The  names  of  author  and  publisher  are  given  as 
follows :  '  W.  Wordsworth,  B.  A.,  of  St.  Johns,  Cambridge ; ' 
'  London :  Printed  for  J.  Johnson,  St.  Paul's  Church- Yard,  1793.* 
This  is  the  Johnson,  by  whom  Cowper's  poems  were  published ; 
and  to  whom  frequent  reference  is  made  in  Cowper's  letters  and  in 

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W  COLLEOK  YACATIONCU 

addressed  to  his  fellow  traveller,  Jones,  and  published  in 
the  year  179^^ 

A  comparison  of  the  treatment  of  the  same  topics  in 
Ms  poem,  and  in  the  Prelude^  written  about  ten  years 
aflerwards,  will  be  interesting,  inasmuch  as  it  exhibits  the 
change  d  style  which  had  taken  place  in  that  period. 

In  the  same  year,  wilih  the  ^  Descriptive  Sketches,^' 
appeared  the  ^  Evening  Walk,'  *  written  in  1787,  '88,  and 
'81^,  and  ^  addressed  to  a  young  lady.'  'The  scene  of  the 
^  Evening  Walk '  is.  among  the  lakes  of  Uie  author'a  own 
country. 

Both  these  poems  display  an  accurate  observation  of 
nature,  much  richness  of  imagery,  and  much  power  of 
delineation.  They  are  written  in  vigorous  language,  and 
with  somewhat  of  sternness  and  ruggedness,  labouring,  as 
it  were,  under  constraint  to  accommodate  itself  to  Pope's 
manner  of  versification,  which  was  by  no  means  favourable 
for  the  expression  of  such  feelings  as  were- produced  by 
natural  beauty  and  grandeur  on  the  Poet's  mind. 

The  '  Descriptive  Sketches '  conclude  with  some  very 
spirited  lines,  which  show  how  ardent  was  the  enthusiasm 

the  life  by  Southey,  in  a  manner  which  leaves  an  agreeable  im- 
pression of  the  publisher's  character  and  intercourse  with  men  of 
letters.  To  preserve  a  sense  of  the  continuity  in  the  calendar  of 
English  Boets,  it  is  well  to  remember  that  the  first  edition  of '  The 
Task 'was  published  by  Johnson  in  1784,  just  nine  years  before 
he  published  the  *  Descriftiye  Sketches.' 

The  original  edition  of  the  '  Descriptive  Sketches '  had  the  fol- 
lowing mottos  on  the  title-page. 

'  Loca  pastorum  deserta  atque  otia  dia.    Lucret. 

'  Castella  in  tumulis  — 
—  Et  longe  saltus  lateque  vacantes.    Virgil.' 

H.  R.] 

»Vol.i.p.  16-37. 
[*  Note  on  p.  65.  —  h.  r.] 

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COLLBGE   VACATIONS.  6T 

of  the  writer  in  favour  of  liberty,  and  how  sanguine  were 
his  hopes,  at  that  time,  of  a  general  diffusion  of  benevo- 
lence and  happiness  from  the  exertions  of  those  who 
proclaimed  themselves  its  advocates,  and  were  enlisting 
the  sympathies  of  France,  Europe,  and  the  world,  in 
behalf  of  themselves  and  their  cause.  The  author  dic« 
tated  the  following  particulars  concerning  these  two 
poems.^ 

An  Evening  Walk. — 'The  young  lady  to  whom  this 
^  was  addressed  was  my  sister.  It  was  composed  at  school 
and  during  my  first  two  college  vacations.  There  is  not 
an  image  in  it  which  I  have  not  observed ;  and,  now  in 
my  seventy-third  year,  I  recollect  the  time  and  place 
where  most  of  them  were  noticed.  I  will  confine  myself 
to  one  instance. 

'  Waving  his  hat,  the  shepherd  IVom  the  vale 
Directs  his  wandering  dog  the  cliffs  to  scale ; 
The  dog  loud  harking  *mid  the  glittering  rockS| 
Hunts  where  his  master  points,  the  intercepted  flocks.' 

I  was  an  eye-witness  of  this  for  the  first  time  while  cross- 
ing the  pass  of  Dunmail  Raise.  Upon  second  thought,  I 
will  mention  another  image  : 

'  And  fronting  the  bright  west,  yon  oak  entwines 
Its  darkening  boughs  and  leaves  in  stronger  lines.' 

This  is  feebly  and  imperfectly  expressed,  but  I  recollect 
distinctly  the  very  spot  where  this  first  struck  me.  It 
was  on  the  way  between  Hawkshead  and  Ambleside,  and 
gave  me  extreme  pleasure.  The  moment  was  important 
in  my  poetical  history ;  for  I  date  from  it  my  conscious- 

*  From  MS.  I.  F.    See  above,  p.  21,  note.    They  were  dictated 
in  1843. 


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DO  GOLLBGB   VACATIONS. 

ness  of  the  infinite  variety  of  natural  appearances  which 
had  been  unnoticed  by  the  poets  of  any  age  or  country, 
so  far  as  I  was  acquainted  with  them ;  and  I  made  a  reso- 
lution to  supply  in  some  degree  the  deficiency.  I  could 
not  have  been  at  that  time  above  fourteen  years  of  age; 
The  description  of  the  Swans  that  follows  was  taken  from 
the  daily  opportunities  I  had  of  observing  their  habits,  not 
as  confined  to  the  gentleman's  park,  but  in  a  state  of 
nature.  There  were  two  pairs  of  them  that  divided  the 
lake  of  Esthwaite  and  its  in-and-out-flowing  streams  be- 
tween them,  never  trespassing  a  single  yard  upon  each 
other's  separate  domain.  They  were  of  the  old  magnifi- 
cent species,  bearing  in  beauty  and  majesty  about  the 
same  relation  to  the  Thames  swan  which  that  does  to 
a  goose.  It  was  from  the  remembrance  of  these  noble 
creatures  I  took,  thirty  years  after,  the  picture  of  the  swan 
which  I  have  discarded  from  the  poem  of  '  Dion.'  While 
I  was  a  school-boy,  the  late  Mr.  Curwen  introduced  a 
little  fleet  of  these  birds,  but  of  the  inferior  species,  to  the 
lake  of  Windermere.  Their  principal  home  was  about 
his  own  islands ;  but  they  sailed  about  into  remote  parts 
'  of  the  lake,  and  either  from  real  or  imagined  injury  done 
to  the  adjoining  fields,  they  were  got  rid  of  at  the  request 
of  the  farmers  and  proprietors,  but  to  the  great  regret  of 
all  who  had  become  attached  to  them  from  noticing  their 
beauty  and  quiet  habits.  I  will  conclude  my  notice  of 
this  poem  by  observing  that  the  plan  of  it  has  not  been 
confined  to  a  particular  walk,  or  an  individual  place  ;  a 
proof  (of  which  I  was  unconscious  at  the  time)  of  my 
unwillingness  to  submit  the  poetic  spirit  to  the  chains  of 
fact  and  real  circumstance.  The  country  is  idealized 
rather  than  described  in  any  one  of  its  local  aspects.' 

Descriptive  Sketches^  1791-2. — 'Much  the  greatest 
part  of  this  poem  was  composed  during  my  walks  upon 

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COLLEGE   VACATIONS.  69 

the  banks  of  the  Loire,  in  the  years  1791,  1792.  I  will 
only  notice  that  the  description  of  the  valley  filled  with 
mist,  beginning  '  In  solemn  shapes,'  &c.,  was  taken  from 
that  beautiful  region,  of  which  the  principal  features  are 
Lungam  and  Samen.  Nothing  that  I  ever  saw  in  nature 
left  a  more  delightful  impression  on  my  mind  than  that 
which  I  have  attempted,  alas,  how  feebly !  to  convey  to 
others  in  these  lines.  Those  two  lakes  have  always  inter- 
ested me,  especially  from  bearing,  in  their  .size  and  other 
features,  a  resemblance  to  those  of  the  north  of  England. 
It  is  much  to  be  deplored  that  a  district  so  beautiful  should 
be  so  imhealthy  as  it  is.' 

These  two  poems  attracted  little  public  notice,  and  it 
was  long  before  they  passed  through  one  edition.  But 
one  of  them  arrested  the  attention  of  a  person  who  en- 
tered the  University  of  Cambridge  the  same  year  as 
Wordsworth  left  it,  and  was  afterwards  associated  with 
him  as  one  of  his  most  intimate  friends,  Samuel  Taylor 
Coleridge.  'During  the  last  year  of  my  residence  at 
Cambridge,'  says  Coleridge,^  '  I  became  acquainted  with 
Mr.  Wordsworth's  "  Descriptive  Sketches,"  and  seldom, 
if  ever,  was  the  emergence  of  an  original  poetic  genius 
above  the  literary  horizon  more  evidently  announced.' 

In  January,  1791,  William  Wordsworth  took  his  Bache- 
lor of  Arts  degree,  and  quitted  Cambridge. 

*  Biograph.  Literar.  vol.  i.,  p.  74,  ed.  1847. 


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CHAPTER    VIII. 

BESIDENCE   IX   FRANCE. 

In  tiie  month  of  May,  1791,  William  Wordswortfi,  after 
four  months'  residence  in  London,  visited  his  friend 
Robert  Jones  at  the  house  of  his  father,  Edward  Jones, 
Esq.,  Plas-yn-Uan,  and  with  him  made  a  pedestrian  tour 
in  North  Wales. 

In  a  letter  ^  from  Plas-yn-llan  to  his  friend  and  fellow 
collegian  William  Mathews,  he  thus  writes :  — 

'  Plas-jfU'llan,  near  Ruthin,  Denbighshire, 
June  17,  1791. 

'  You  will  see  by  the  date  of  this  letter  that  I  am  in 
Wales,  and  whether  you  remember  the  place  of  Jones's 
residence  or  no,  you  will  immediately  conclude  that  I 
km  with  him.  I  quitted  London  about  three  weeks  ago, 
where  my  time  passed  in  a  strange  manner,  sometimes 
whirled  about  by  the  vortex  of  its  strenua  inertia,  and 
sometimes  thrown  by  the  eddy  into  a  comer  of  the  stream. 
Think  not,  however,  that  I  had  not  many  pleasant  hours. 
....  My  time  has  been  spent  since  I  reached  Wales  in 
a  very  agreeable  manner,  and  Jones  and  I  intend  to  make 
a  tour  through  its  northern  counties,  —  on  foot,  as  you 
will  easily  suppose.' 

In  company  with  Jones,  he  saw  '  the  sunsets  which  give 

^  I  am  indebted  for  these  letters  to  the  courtesy  of  Mrs.  Mathews, 
who,  having  heard  the  announcement  of  the  present  Memoir,  very 
promptly  and  liberally  placed  them  at  my  disposal. 

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EEBIDBNCE   IN   FRAKCB.  71 

such  splendour  to  *the  vale  of  Clwyd ; '  with  him  he  ex- 
plored '  Snowdon,  the  chair  of  Idris,  the  quiet  village  of 
Bethgelert,  and  visited  Menai  and  the  Alpine  steeps  of 
Conway,  and  traced  the  windings  of  the  wizard  stream  of 
the  Dee.'  * 

One  of  the  scenes  which  he  beheld  in  this  tour — a 
moonlight  night  on  the  top  of  Snowdon — is  described 
with  great  splendour  of  language  in  the  opening  of  the  last 
book  of  '  The  Prelude.'  3 

After  the  completion  of  this  tour  in  North  Wales^ 
Wordsworth  writes  again,  on  the  3d  of  August,  from  Plas- 
3m-llan  to  Mathews,  who,  it  appears,,  was  suffering  from 
low  spirits.  *  I  regret  much  not  to  have  been  made  ac- 
quainted with  your  wish  to  have  employed  your  vacation 
in  a  pedestrian  tour,  both  on  your  account,  as  it  would 
have  contributed  greatly  to  exhilarate  your  spirits,  and  on 
mine,  as  we  should  have  gained  much  from  the  addition 
of  your  society.  Such  an  excursion  would  have  served 
like  an  Aurora  Borealis  to  gild  your  long  Lapland  night 
of  melancholy.' 

About  this  time  Wordsworth  was  urged  by  some  of  his 
relatives  to  take  holy  orders.  Writing  from  Cambridge, 
September  23d,  to  Mathews,  he  says, '  I  quitted  Wales  on 
a  summons  from  Mr.  Robinson,  a  gentleman  you  most 
likely  have  heard  me  speak  of,  respecting  my  going  into 
orders  and  taking  a  curacy  at  Harwich ;  which  curacy  he 
considered  as  introductory  to  the  living.  I  thought  it  was 
best  to  pay  my  respects  to  him  in  person,  to  inform  him 
that  I  am  not  of  age  for  ordination.'  He  adds,  that  he 
intends  to  '  remain  at  Cambridge  till  the  University  fills,' 
that  is,  till  the  middle  of  October;  and  on  the  23d  of 

>  Dedication  of  Descriptive  Sketches,  vol.  i.  p.  16. 
«  P.  353, 

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72  RESIDENCE  IN   FRANCE. 

November  he  writes  to  Mathews  from  Brighton,  informing 
him  that  he  is  on  his  '  way  to  Orleans,  where  he  purposes 
to  pass  the  winter.'  , 

He  set  out  on  this  journey  without  any  companion  ; 
and  at  that  time  he  had  a  very  imperfect  acquaintance 
with  the  French  language.  France  was  then  in  a  state  of 
revolution.  In  November,  1791,  the  month  when  he 
landed  in  France,  the  National  Assembly  met ;  the  party 
of  Madame  Roland  and  the  Brissotins  were  in  the  ascend- 
ant ;  the  war  of  La  Vendee  was  raging ;  the  army  was  in 
favour  of  a  constitutional  monarchy ;  Dumourier  was 
Minister  of  the  Exterior ;  a  German  army  was  hovering 
on  the  French  frontier  ;  popular  sedition  was  fomented 
by  the  Girondists  in  order  to  intimidate  the  government 
and  overawe  the  crown.  In  the  following  year,  1792, 
the  sanguinary  epoch  of  the  Revolution  commenced ; 
committees  of  public  safety  struck  terror  into  the  hearts 
of  thousands ;  the  king  was  thrown  into  the  prison  of  the 
Temple ;  the  massacres  of  September,  perpetrated  by 
Danton  and  his  associates  to  daunt  the  invading  army  and 
its  adherents,  deluged  Paris  with  blood ;  the  convention 
was  constituted ;  monarchy  was  abolished ;  a  rupture  en- 
sued between  the  Gironde  and  the  Montague ;  Robes- 
pierre arose ;  Deism  was  dominant ;  the  influence  of 
Brissot  and  of  the  Girondists  was  on  the  decline,  and  in  a 
short  time  they  were  about  to  fall  victims  to  the  power 
which  they  themselves  had  created. 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  public  events  which  took 
place  while  William  Wordsworth  was  in  France. 

The  feelings  of  enthusiasm  with  which  he  entered  that 
country  and  hailed  the  rising  Revolution  have  been 
already  described.  He  ardently  hoped  and  confidently, 
expected  that  a  new  era  of  liberty  and  happiness  was 
about  to  dawn  upon  the  world.     In  his  imagination 

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RESIDENCE   IN   FRANCE.  73 

'  Before  him  shone  a  glorious  world , 
Fresh  as  a  banner  bright,  unfurled 

To  music  suddenly : 
He  looked  upon  the  hills  and  plains, 
And  seemed  as  if  let  loose  from  chains 
To  live  at  liberty.* » 

All  ancient  abuses  were  to  be  swept  away  ;  and  a  golden 
age  of  universal  peace  was  about  to  succeed  in  its  place : 

'  Bliss  was  It  in  that  dawn  to  be  alive, 
But  to  be  young  was  very  heaven  !  *  * 

He  passed  a  few  days  at  Paris ;  listened  to  the  harangues 
in  the  National  Assembly  and  at  the  club  of  the  Jacobins ; 
gathered  up  a  stone  as  a  relic  from  the  ruins  of  the 
Bastille ;  and 

'  Became  a  patriot,  and  his  heart  was  all 
Given  to  the  people,  and  his  love  was  theirs.* ' 

From  Paris  he  directed  his  course  to  Orleans,  where  he 
became  intimately  acquainted  with  the  republican  general 
Beaupuis,  whom  he  has  described  with  ardent  affection 
and  poetic  fire  in  his  autobiographical  work,  as  a  phil6- 
sopher,  patriot,  and  soldier, —  a  modern  Dion.  He  ac- 
companied him  in  frequent  walks  by  the  banks  of  the 
Loire,  and  among  the  woods  near  Orleans ;  and  they 
discoursed  on  systems  of  state  polity,  and  on  the  prospects 
of  society,  and  the  measures  to  be  adopted  for  the  ame- 
lioration of  the  condition  of  the  poor.  The  famished  girH 
leading  the  lean  heifer  by  a  cord  along  the  lane,  furnished 
the  French  soldier  with  a  theme  for  descanting  on  the 
aims  of  those  who  had  entered  on  the  career  of  revolution, 
with  full  conviction  that  they  were  engaging  in  a  righteous 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  121 ;  see  also  Prelude,  p.  250,  267,  276. 

«  Prelude,  p.  299.        »  Prelude,  p.  245.         *  Prelude,  p.  260. 

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74  RESIDBNCE   IN   FBANCE. 

cause  ;  and  the  story  of  the  youthful  lovers,  Vaudracour. 
and  Julia,  supplied  food  for  sorrow  and  indignation,  which 
would  not  remain  inactive,  but  grasped  the  sword,  and 
cried  for  revenge  J     At  length  this  courageous  soldier  and 
philosopher,  Beaupuis, 

'  perished  fighting  in  supreme  command, 
Upon  the  borders  of  the  anhappy  Loire.*  * 

Wordsworth's  condition  in  France  was  a  very  critical 
one  :  he  was  an  orphan,  young,  inexperienced,  impetuous, 
enthusiastic,  with  no  friendly  voice  to  guide  him,  in  a  for- 
eign country,  and  that  country  in  a  state  of  revolution ; 
and  this  revolution,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  not  only 
taken  up  arms  against  the  monarchy  and  other  ancient 
institutions,  but  had  declared  war  against  Christianity. 
The  most  licentious  theories  were  propounded ;  all  re- 
straints were  broken ;  libertinism  was  law.  He  was 
encompassed  with  strong  temptations;  and  although  it 
is  not  the  design  of  the  present  work  to  chronicle  the 
events  of  his  life  except  so  far  as  they  illustrate  his 
writings,  yet  I  could  not  pass  over  this  period  of  it  without 
noticing  the  dangers  which  surround  those  who  in  an 
ardent  emotion  of  enthusiasm  put  themselves  in  a  position 
of  peril,  without  due  consideration  of  the  circumstances 
which  ought  to  regulate  their  practice. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1792,  William  Wordsworth  had 
quitted  Orleans  for  Blois,  from  which  he  writes  to  his 
friend  Mathews  as  follows,  on  May  17th. 

'  The  horrors  excited  by  the  relation  of  the  events  con- 
sequent upon  the  commencement  of  hostilities  is  general. 
Not  but  that  there  are  some  men  who  felt  a  gloomy 
satisfaction   from  a  measure  which  seemed  to  put  the 

>  Vol.  i.  p.  244-253.  «  Prelude,  p.  257. 

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£BSn>ENCE   IN   FRANCE.  75 

patriot  army  out  of  a  possibility  of  success.  An  igno- 
minious flight,  the  massacre  of  their  genera!,  a  dance 
performed  with  savage  joy  round  his  burning  body,  the 
murder  of  six  prisoners,  are  events  which  would  have 
arrested  the  attention  of  the  reader  of  the  annals  of  Mo- 
rocco.' 

He  then  expresses  his  fear  that  the  patriot  army  would 
be  routed  l^  the  invaders.  But  *  suppose,'  he  adds, '  that 
the  German  army  is  at  the  gates  of  Paris,  what  will  be 
the  consequence?  It  will  be  impossible  for  it  to  make 
any  material  alterations  in  the  constitution  ;  impossible  to 
reinstate  the  clergy  in  its  ancient  guilty  splendour ;  impos- 
siUe  to  restore  an  existence  to  the  noblesse  similar  to  that 
it  before  enjoyed ;  impossible  to  add  much  to  the  authority 
of  the  king.  Yet  there  are  in  France  some  (millions?) 
—  I  speak  without  exaggeration  —  who  expect  that  this 
will  take  place'.' 

In  the  autumn  of  1792  he  left  the  banks  of  the  Loire, 
and  bent  his  steps  toward  Paris,  which  he  reached  a 
month  after  the  horrible  massacre  of  September.  The 
king  had  been  dethroned,  and  lay  in  prison  with  his  wife 
and  children.  France  was  a  republic.  Wordsworth  vis- 
ited the  dungeon,  and  the  palace,  and  the  Place  de  Car- 
rousel, where 

'  so  late  had  lain 
The  dead  upon  the  dying  heaped/  * 

He  described  the  awe  which  he  felt  by  night  in  the  high, 
dark,  lonely  chamber  in  which  he  lodged,  when  he  thought 
of  these  scenes  of  carnage,  until  he  seemed 

'  to  hear  a  voice  that  cried 
To  the  whole  city,  "sleep  no  more." '  • 

»  Prelude,  p.  269.  « Ibid.  p.  270. 

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76  BESIDENCE    IN   FRANCS. 

These  scenes  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon  him,  that 
for  many  years  afterwards  they  haunted  his  dreams.  In 
his  sleep  he  often  imagined  himself  pleading  for  the  life 
of  his  friends  or  his  own  before  the  sava^  tribunal  which 
professed  to  uphold  law,  to  maintain  peace,  and  to  vin- 
dicate the  rights  of  man ;  and  felt  no  compunction  or 
commiseration  in  shedding  innocent  blood. 

At  Paris  his  feelings  were  still  more  disturbed  by  the 
abortive  issue  of  Louvet's  denunciation  of  Robespierre : 
he  began  to  forebode  the  commencement  of  the  Reign  of 
Terror ;  he  was  paralyzed  with  sorrow  and  dismay,  and 
stung  with  disappointment,  that  no  paramount  spirit  had 
emerged  to  abash  the  impious  crests  of  the  leaders  of 
*  the  atheist  crew,'  and  '  to  quell  outrage  and  bloody 
power,'  and  to  *  clear  a  passage  for  just  government,  and 
leave  a  solid  birthright  to  the  state.' 

Yet  he  was  rivetted  to  the  spot  by  a  mysterious  spell. 
He  longed  to  remain  at  Paris.  But,  happily  for  him,  cir- 
cumstances obliged  him  to  return  to  England.  If  he  had 
remained  longer  in  the  French  capital,  he  would,  in  all 
probability,  have  fallen  a  victim  among  the  Brissotins, 
with  whom  he  was  intimately  connected,  and  who  were 
cut  off  by  their  rivals,  the  Jacobins,  at  the  close  of  the 
following  May.  Reluctantly  he  tore  himself  from  Paris ; 
but  before  a  few  months  had  elapsed,  he  acknowledged 
that  in  so  doing  he  had  been  rescued  '  by  the  gracious 
Providence  of  heaven.'  ^ 

He  returned  to  England  at  the  close  of  1792.  His 
brother  Richard  was  then  settled  as  a  solicitor  in  London ; 
John  was  returning  from  the  Azores  ;  Christopher  was  at 
Trinity  College,  Cambridge,  to  which  he  had  been  sent 

>  Prelude,  p.  276 

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BESIDENCE   IN   FBANCE.  77 

by  his  uncle  Grackanthorpe.  '  William,'  says  his  sister, 
in  a  letter  bearing  date  22d  December,  1792,  and  written 
firom  the  house  of  Dr.  Coolrson,  at  Forncett, '  is  in  Lon- 
don ;  he  writes  to  me  regular.'y,  and  is  a  most  affectionate 
brother.' 


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CHAPTER   IX. 

FEELINGS  AND  OPINIONS  ON   RETURNING   FROM   FRANCE   TO 
ENGLAND. — CHOICE   OF   PROFESSION. 

It  has  already  been  recorded,  that  some  of  Wordsworth's 
relations  were  desirous  that  he  should  take  holy  orders  in 
the  Church  of  England ;  and  it  appears  from  some  of  his 
letters  at  this  period,  that  their  wishes  had  much  weight 
with  him,  and  that  he  now  entertained  the  design  of  quali- 
fying himself  for  the  clerical  profession. 

But  there  were  many  impediments  in  the  way  of  the 
accomplishment  of  this  plan.  The  first  and  foremost  was 
the  state  of  his  own  mind.  He  had  embarked  in  the 
cause  of  the  French  Revolution  with  eager  enthusiasm 
and  sanguine  expectations.  The  course  which  events 
had  now  taken  in  that  country  was  such  as  to  damp  his 
ardour  and  check  his  aspirations.  But  he  could  not  as 
yet  prevail  upon  himself  to  abandon  his  political  theory. 
He  clung  to  it  with  unflinching  tenfcity.  And  yet  the 
crimes  of  which  the  professed  partisans  of  liberty  had 
been  guilty,  and  were  still  perpetrating  in  her  name,  shook 
his  faith  in  the  existence  of  human  virtue,  and  almost 
compelled  him  to  sit  down  in  misanthropic  sadness  and 
sullen  despair. 

A  pamphlet  which  he  wrote  on  his  return  to  England, 
but  never  published,  entitled  ^  A  Letter  to  the  Bishop  of 
LlandafT  on  the  political  Principles  contained  in  an  Ap- 
pendix to  one  of  his  Lordship's  recent  Sermons,'  exhibits 

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OPINIONS   on   BSTXTBNING  FEOM   FRANCE.  99 

the  state  of  his  mind  at  that  time.  The  sentiments 
avowed  in  it  are  republican.  He  declares  himself  an 
enemy  to  an  hereditary  monarchy  and  an  hereditary 
peerage,  and  to  all  social  privileges  and  distinctions, 
except  such  as  are  conferred  by  the  elective  voice  of  the 
people.  He  expresses  a  deep  feeling  of  sorrow  and  com- 
miseration for  the  wrongs  suffered  by  human  nature  under 
existing  governments;  and,  having  fixed  his  mind  on 
these  melancholy  results,  and  brooding  upon  them,  he 
identified  monarchy  with  its  abuses,  and  looked  for  a 
correction  of  them  all  to  the  unexplored  Utopia  of  de- 
mocracy. 

Yet  feeling  as  he  did  very  strongly  on  these  points,  he 
abhorred  violence.  He  shrunk  with  execration  from  the 
inhuman  means  which  some,  whose  aims  he  admired,  had 
adopted,  and  were  still  employing,  for  attaining  their  ends. 
In  one  of  his  letters  to  his  friend  Mathews,  he  thus  speaks : 
'I  disapprove  of  monarchical  and  aristocratical  govern- 
ments, however  modified.  Hereditary  distinctions,  and 
privileged  orders  of  every  species,  I  think,  must  neces- 
sarily counteract  the  progress  of  human  improvement. 
Hence  it  follows,  that  I  am  not  among  the  admirers  of  the 
British  constitution.  I  conceive  that  a  more  excellent 
system  of  civil  policy  might  be  established  among  us ; 
yet  in  my  ardour  to  attain  the  goal,  I  do  not  forget  the 
nature  of  the  ground  where  the  race  is  to  be  run.  The 
destruction  of  those  institutions  which  I  condemn,  appears 
to  me  to  be  hastening  on  too  rapidly.  1  recoil  from  the 
very  idea  of  a  revolution,  I  am  a  determined  enemy  to 
every  species  of  violence.  I  see  no  connection,  but  what 
the  obstinacy  of  pride  and  ignorance  renders  necessary, 
between  justice  and  the  sword,  —  between  reason  and 
bonds.  I  deplore  the  miserable  condition  of  the  French, 
and  think  that  we  can  only  be  guarded  from  the  same 

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80  FEELINGS    AND   OPINIONS 

scourge  by  the  undaunted  efforts  of  good  men I 

severely  condemn  all  inflammatory  addresses  to  the  |>as- 
sions  of  men.  I  know  that  the  multitude  walk  in  dark- 
ness. I  would  put  into  ecu^h  man^s  hands  a  lantern,  to 
guide  him ;  and  not  have  him  to  set  out  upon  his  journey 
depending  for  illumination  on  abortive  flashes  of  lightning, 
or  the  coruscations  of  transitory  meteors.^ 

Such  were  his  sentiments.  It  is  evident  that  whatever 
sympathy  he  might  meet  with  in  his  theory,  he  would  find 
little  co-operation  in  practice.  Hence,  he  was  in  the  con- 
dition of  one  who  sees  his  fairest  expectations  blighted, 
and  his  brightest  visions  melting  away.  His  distress  con- 
sequent on  his  disappointment  was  proportionate  to  the 
confidence  with  which  he  looked  forward  to  the  realiza- 
tion of  his  hopes. 

Another  circumstance  gave  a  severe  shock  to  his  moral 
being.  Hitherto  his  own  country  had  remained  neuter. 
England  had  looked  on  the  French  Revolution  with  sus- 
picion and  uneasiness,  but  had  taken  no  part  in  the  strug- 
gle. But  after  the  death  of  the  King  of  France,  on 
January  21st,  1793,  the  case  was  altered.  She  would  not 
maintain  amicable  relations  with  a  regicide  republic,  and 
made  preparations  for  war  with  France. 

At  that  time,  the  summer  of  1793,  Wordsworth  was  in 
the  Isle  of  Wight  with  a  friend,  Mr.  William  Calvert. 
Night  after  night  he  listened  to  the  cannon  fired  at  sunset 
from  Portsmouth ;  and  his  mind  was  filled  with  gloomy 
forebodings  with  respect  to  the  issue  for  which  the  fleet 
was  there  being  equipped  ^ :  — 

'  Each  evening,  pacing  by  the  still  sea-shore, 
A  monitory  sound  that  never  failed,  — 
The  sunset  cannon.    While  the  orb  went  down 

>  Prelude,  p.  278,  280,  302,  304. 

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ON  RETUBNIN6  FBOM  FEANCE.  81 

In  the  tranquillity  of  nature,  came 
That  voice,  ill  requiem !  seldom  heard  by  me 
Without  a  spirit  overcast  by  dark 
Imaginations,  sense  of  woes  to  come. 
Sorrow  for  human  kind,  and  pain  of  heart.'  * 

After  leaving  the  Isle  of  Wight,  Wordsworth  spent  two 
days  in  wandering  on  foot  over  the  dreary  waste  of  Salis- 
bury Plain,  and  thence  proceeded  by  Bristol  and  Tintem 
up  the  Wye,  and  so  to  North  Wales.  On  Salisbury  Plain 
he  commenced  the  poem  which  once  bore  the  name  of  the 
plain  where  the  scene  is  laid,  but  was  afterwards  pub- 
lished in  part  under  the  title  of  the  '  Female  Vagrant,'  and 
finally  under  that  of  '  Guilt  and  Sorrow.'  ^  • 

'  Prelude,  p.  280  j  see  also  the  prefatory  notice  to  '  Guilt  and 
Sorrow,'  vol.  i.  p.  40. 
«Vol.  i.  p.  40-63. 

*  [The  'Advertisement '  prefixed  to  this  poem  in  1842  has  an 
autobiographical  interest  which  tempts  me  to  introduce  here  for 
the  reader's  convenience  the  following  extract : 

'  The  whole  was  written  before  the  close  of  the  year  1794,  and  I 
will  detail,  rather  as  matter  of  literary  biography  than  for  any 
other  reason,  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  produced. 

'  During  the  latter  part  of  the  summer  of  1793,  having  passed  a 
month  in  the  Isle  of  Wight,  in  view  of  the  fleet  which  was  then 
preparing  for  sea  off  Portsmouth  at  the  commencement  of  the  war, 
I  left  the  place  with  melancholy  forebodings.  The  American  war 
w^  still  fresh  in  memory.  The  struggle  which  was  beginning, 
and  which  many  thought  would  be  brought  to  a  speedy  close  by 
the  irresistible  arms  of  Great  Britain  being  added  to  those  of  the 
allies,  I  was  assured  in  my  own  mind  would  be  of  long  continu- 
ance, and  productive  of  distress  and  misery  beyond  all  possible 
calculation.  This  conviction  was  pressed  upon  me  by  having  been 
a  witness,  during  a  long  residence  in  revolutionary  France,  of  the 
spirit  which  prevailed  in  that  country.  After  leaving  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  I  spent  two  days  in  wandering  on  foot  over  Salisbury  Plain, 
which,  though  cultivation  was  then  widely  spread  through  parts  of 

VOL.  1.  6  r  I 

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0»  FBELINGS  AND   OPINIONS 

It  is  composed  with  great  vigour,  abundantly  sufficient 
to  prove  to  the  author  and  his  friends,  that  he  would  be 
justified  in  devoting  himself  to  poetry  as  a  profession.  At 
the  same  time,  it  is  impressed  with  a  character  of  sadness 
congenial  to  the  state  of  his  own  mind  at  that  time. 

He  had  now  completed  his  twenty-third  year,  and  was 
of  an  age  to  receive  holy  orders.  But  he  was  not  pre- 
pared for  such  a  step.  His  mind  had  been  disturbed  by 
public  affairs,  and  as  yet  it  had  not  settled  down  into  a 
state  of  repose.  He  had  no  fixed  place  of  residence.  He 
travelled  from  spot  to  spot,  paying  visits  to  his  friends, 
particularly  to  Robert  Jones,  where  he  spent  a  great  part 
of  the  summer.  In  the  beginning  of  1794,  the  month  'of 
February,  he  was  at  Millhouse,  Halifax,  residing  with  Mr. 
W.  Rawson,  who  had  married  Wordsworth's  cousin.  Miss 
Threlkeld,  by  whom  Dorothy  Wordsworth  was  brought 
up.  '  My  sister,'  he  says,  in  a  letter  to  Mathews,  dated 
February  17th,  1794,  '  is  under  the  same  roof  with  me ; 
indeed,  it  was  to  see  her  that  I  came  into  this  country.  I 
have  been  doing  nothing,  and  still  continue  to  do  nothing. 
What  is  to  become  of  me  I  know  not.'  He  announces  his 
resolve  not  to  take  orders ;  and  '  as  for  the  law,  I  have 
neither  strength  of  mind,  purse,  or  constitution,  to  engage 
in  that  pursuit.' 


it,  had  upon  the  whole  a  still  more  impressive  appearance  thai}  it 
now  retains. 

*  The  monuments  and  traces  of  antiquity,  scattered  in  abund- 
ance over  that  region,  led  me  unavoidably  to  compare  what  we 
know  or  guess  of  those  remote  times  with  certain  aspects  of 
modern  society,  and  with  calamities,  principally  those  consequent 
upon  war,  to  which,  more  than  other  classes  of  men,  the  poor  are 
subject.  In  those  reflections,  joined  with  particular  facts  that  had 
pome  under  my  knowledge,  the  following  stanzas  originated.'  — 
B.  a.] 


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ON  RETUSNING  FROM  FRANCE.  83 

His  sister  thus  writes  to  a  friend,  soon  after  this  visit : 
*After  having  enjoyed  the  company  of  my  brother  William 
at  Halifax,  we  set  forward  by  coach  towards  Whitehaven, 
and  thence  to  Kendal.  I  walked,  with  my  brother  at  my 
side,  from  Kendal  to  Grasmere,  eighteen  miles,  and  after- 
wards from  Grasmere  to  Keswick,  fifteen  miles,  through 
the  most  delightful  country  that  was  ever  seen.  We  are 
now  at  a  farm-house,  about  half  a  mile  from  Keswick. 
When  I  came,  I  intended  to  stay  only  a  few  days ;  but  the 
country  is  so  delightful,  and,  above  all,  I  have  so  full  an 
enjoym^it  of  my  brother's  company,  that  I  have  deter- 
mined to  stay  a  few  weeks  longer.  After  I  leave  Windy- 
blow  '  (this  is  the  name  of  the  farm-house), '  I  shall  pro- 
ceed to  Whitehaven.' 

In  May,  1794,  William  Wordsworth  was  at  Whitehaven, 
at  his  uncle's,  Mr.  Richard  Wordsworth's ;  and  he  then 
proposes  to  his  friend  Mathews,  who  was  resident  in  Lon- 
don, that  they  should  set  on  foot  a  monthly  political  and 
literary  Miscellany,  to  which,  he  says,  'he  would  com- 
municate critical  remarks  on  poetry,  the  arts  of  painting, 
gardening,  &c.,  besides  essays  on  morals  and  politics.' 
'I  am  at  present,'  he  adds,  'nearly  at  leisure  —  I  say 
nearly^  for  I  am  not  quite  so,  as  I  am  correcting,  and  con- 
siderably adding  to,  those  poems  which  I  published  in 
your  absence'  ('The  Evening  Walk,'  and  'Descriptive 
Sketches').*     'It  was  with  great  reluctance  that  I  sent 

*  [A  copy  of  the  '  Descriptive  Sketches '  (the  first  edition  in 
quarto)  in  my  possession  bears  evidence  to  the  work  of  correction 
here  spoken  of :  the  margin  of  nearly  every  page  is  filled  with 
alterations  in  Mr.  Wordsworth's  hand-writing  —  in  ink,  lead- 
pencil,  and  red  chalk. 

Among  the  errata  in  <  The  Evening  Walk '  —  first  edition,  the 
following  is  not  unworthy  of  notice : 

Line  238,  for  '  Minden's  chamel  plain,'  read  '  Bunker's  chamel 

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84  FBELINGS   AND   OPINIONS 

those  two  little  works  into  the  world  in  so  imperfect  a 
state.  But  as  I  had  done  nothing  by  which  to  distinguish 
myself  at  the  university,  I  thought  these  little  things  might 
show  that  I  could  do  something.  They  have  been  treated 
with  unmerited  contempt  by  some  of  the  periodicals,  and 
others  have  spoken  in  higher  terms  of  them  than  they 
deserve.' 

In  June,  1794,  writing  to  the  same  friend  from  White- 
haven, he  furnishes  him  with  a  prospectus  of  the  proposed 
periodical,  which  he  suggests  should  be  called  '  The  Phi- 
LANTHEOPisT,  a  monthly  Miscellany.'  The  political  prin- 
ciples of  this  publication  were  to  have  been  republican, 
but  not  revolutionary. 

To  turn  for  a  moment  to  France.  '  Robespierre,'  says 
Wordsworth  1,  'was  one  of  the  vainest  of  men;  and 
from  this  passion,  and  from  that  cowardice  which  natural- 
ly connects  itself  with  it,  flowed  the  horrors  of  his  admin- 
istration.'    In  July,  1794,  Robespierre  fell,  and  with  his 


hill.'  The  whole  passage  is  changed  in  the  later  revisions  of  the 
text.  The  Poet*s  thoughts  appear,  in  several  instances,  to  have 
turned  to  the  American  war,  which,  on  another  occasion,  he  speaks 
of  as  one  of  two  wars  waged  against  Liberty  by  Great  Britain.  — 
Tract  on  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  139. 

When  in  the  edition  of  the  Poems  in  1815  Extracts  only  were 
given  from  'The  Evening  Walk*-  and  'Descriptive  Sketches,' 
Charles  Lamb,  writing  to  Wordsworth,  said,  '  I  am  almost  sorry 
that  you  printed  extracts  from  those  first  poems,  or  that  you  did 
not  print  them  at  length.  *  *  I  have  hitherto  kept  them  dis- 
tinct in  my  mind  as  referring  to  a  particular  period  of  your  life. 
All  the  rest  of  your  poems  are  so  much  of  a  piece,  they  might 
have  been  written  in  the  same  week  ;  these  decidedly  speak  of  an 
earlier  period.  They  tell  more  of  what  you  had  been  reading.'  — 
Talfourd^s  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb,  Chap.  vi.  — h.  e.) 

*  Letter  to  a  friend  of  Burns,  p.  34. 

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ON   SETTTSNING   FROM   FRANCE.  85 

fall  a  new  hope  gleamed  upon  Wordsworth's  mind.  The 
effect  of  the  intelligence,  which  met  him  as  he  crossed  the 
sands  of  Ulverstone,  is  described  in  rapturous  accents  in 
his  biographical  poem :  — 

' "  Come,  now,  ye  golden  times," 
Said  I,  forth-pouring  on  those  open  sands 
A  hymn  of  triumph :  "  as  the  Morning  comes 
'  From  out  the  bosom  of  the  Night,  come  ye: 

Thus  far  our  trust  is  verified  j  behold ! 
They  who  with  clumsy  desperation  brought 
A  river  of  Blood,  and  preached  that  nothing  else 
Could  cleanse  the  Augean  stable,  by  the  might 
Of  their  own  helper  have  been  swept  away."  *  * 

But  this  ecstasy  was  of  short  duration :  the  cloud  which 
hung  over  France  became  as  dense  and  dark  as  before ; 
and  his  sadness  was  not  relieved,  but  pressed  with  a 
wearier  weight  upon  his  soul.  His  personal  circumstances 
also  at  this  time  were  very  distressing. 

The  attempt  to  recover  the  debt  due  to  his  father's 
estate  was  as  yet  unattended  with  success.  Years  were 
passing  by,  and  he  had  no  fixed  profession.  His  relatives 
were  disappointed  and  displeased,  that  with  his  intellectual 
powers,  he  had  made  no  effort  to  attain  the  literary 
honours  and  rewards  which  were  within  his  reach  at  the 
university.  They  thought  that  he  had  wasted  his  time  in 
continental  rambles,  when  he  ought  to  have  been  qualify- 
ing himself  for  a  profession,  and  that  he  had  recklessly 
scorned  their  advice,  and  marred  his  own  fortunes ;  and 
they  looked  upon  him  with  coldness.  The  proposal,  also, 
for  *  The  Philanthropist '  failed.  He  was  driven  to  look 
about  for  other  means  of  livelihood. 

In  'this  difficult  emergency,  he  was  led  to  hope  for  a 
maintenance   by  contributing   to   a  London  newspaper. 

1  Prelude,  p.  291. 

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DO  FEELINGS  AND  OPINIONS 

Writing  from  Keswick  on  November  7th,  1794,  he  an- 
nounces to  his  friend  Mathews,  who  was  so  employed,  his 
desire  and  intention  of  coming  to  London  for  that  purpose, 
and  requests  him  to  procure  for  him  a  similar  engage- 
ment. '  You  say  a  newspaper  would  be  glad  of  me.  Do 
you  think  you  could  insure  me  employment  in  that  way, 
on  terms  similar  to  your  own  ?  I  mean,  also,  in  an  oppo- 
sition paper,  for  I  cannot  abet,  in  the  smallest  degree,  the 
measures  pursued  by  the  present  ministry.  They  are 
already  so  deeply  advanced  in  iniquity,  that,  like  Mac- 
beth, they  cannot  retreat.  When  I  express  myself  in  this 
manner,  I  am  far  from  reprobating  those  whose  sentiments 
differ  from  my  own ;  I  know  that  many  good  men  are 
persuaded  of  the  expediency  of  the  present  war.'  He 
then  turns  to  domestic  matters :  '  You  would  probably  see 
that  my  brother^  has  been  honoured  with  two  college 
declamation  prizes.  This  goes  towards  a  fellowship, 
which  I  hope  he  will  obtain,  and  am  sure  he  will  merit. 
He  is  a  lad  of  talents,  and  industrious  withal.  This  same 
industry  is  a  good  old  Roman  quality,  and  nothing  is  to  be 
done  without  it.' 

While  waiting  for  a  reply  to  his  inquiry,  whether  an 
opening  might  be  found  for  him  in  connection  with  the 
London  newspaper  press,  he  was  engaged  in  attendance 
upon  a  young  sick-  friend.  This  illness  was  protracted 
for  many  months,  and  threatened  to  be  fatal.  '  My  friend,' 
he  writes,*  '  has  every  symptom  of  a  confirmed  consump-  . 
tion,  and  I  cannot  think  of  quitting  him  in  his  present 
debilitated  state.'  And  on  the  following  January  7th 
(1795),  he  writes  from  Penrith  (where  he  was  in  lodgings 

^  Christopher,  then  an  under-gradaate  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge, and  subsequently  Master  of  that  College. 
'Letter  to  Mathews,  Nov.  7,  1794. 

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ON  BETURNING  FROM   FRANCE.  87 

at  Mrs.  Sowerby^s,  at  the  sign  of  the  Robin  Hood),  ^I 
have  been  here  for  some  time.  I  am  still  much  engaged 
with  my  sick  friend;  and  sorry  am  I  to  add  that  he 
worsens  daily  .  .  he  is  barely  alive  .  .' 

In  a  short  time  after  this  letter  was  written,  his  young 
friend  expired;  and  it  was  found,  on  opening  his  will, 
that  he  had  bequeathed  to  his  friend  Wordsworth,  who 
nursed  him  in  his  sickness,  the  sum  of  Nine  hundred 
pounds. 

The  reader  who  is  acquainted  with  Wordsworth's 
Poems,  will  not  need  to  be  informed,  that  this  young 
man  was  Raislet  Calvert. 

'  Calvert  !  it  must  not  be  unheard  by  them 
Who  may  respect  my  name,  that  I  to  thee 
Owe  many  years  of  early  liberty. 
This  caie  was  thine,  when  sickness  did  condemn 
Thy  youth  to  hopeless  wasting  root  and  stem. 
That  I,  if  frugal  and  severe,  might  stray 
Wherever  I  liked,  and  finally  array 
My  temples  with  the  Muses'  diadem. 
Hence,  if  in  freedom  I  have  loved  the  truth, 
If  there  be  aught  of  pure,  or  good,  or  great 
In  my  past  verse,  or  shall  be  in  the  lays 
Of  highest  mood  which  now  I  meditate, 
It  gladdens  me,  0  worthy  short-lived  youth, 
To  think  how  much  of  this  will  be  thy  praise.' ' 

This  bequest  was  devised  on  public  as  well  as  private 
grounds.  Raisley  Calvert,  son  of  R.  Calvert,  Esq.,  stew- 
ard to  the  Duke  of  Norfolk,  was  no  poet  himself,  but  he 
was  endued  with  the  wisdom  of  the  heart,  and  with  a  cer- 
tain discernment  and  prescience,  which  seem  to  be  not  un- 

frequently  granted  to  unworldly  men  when  about  to  leave 

« 

'Vol.  ii.  p.  278 ;  see  also  the  affectionate  Tribute  to  his  Mem- 
ory, in  the  '  Prelude,'  p.  368. 

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OS  FEELINGS  AND   OPINIONS 

this  world ;  and  he  entertained  a  firm  persuasion,  that 
Wordsworth,  if  possessed  of  independent  means,  would 
benefit  mankind  by  his  writings.  He  was  resolved  to  do 
what  he  could  to  secure  him  a  competency ;  and  in  be- 
queathing the  legacy,  which  has  been  mentioned,  he  had 
a  strong  belief,  that  he  was  not  only  promoting  the  happi- 
ness of  his  friend,  but  consulting  the  interests  of  society. 

This  event,  occurring  at  this  critical  epoch  of  Words- 
worth's life,  was  most  providential.  It  rescued  him  from 
a  danger,  on  the  brink  of  which  he  was  standing  —  the 
danger  of  depending  for  his  livelihood  on  the  newspaper 
press.  And  it  may  be  regarded  also  in  a  public  light,  as 
affecting  the  interests  of  literature,  and  the  welfare  not 
only  of  England  and  the  present  century,  but  of  future 
ages  and  distant  lands.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Raisley 
Calvert,  or  rather  for  the  spirit  of  love  moving  in  his 
heart,  Wordsworth's  best  days  might  have  been  spent  in 
writing  leading  articles  for  '  The  Courier ; '  and  the  world 
would  never  have  seen  '  The  Excursion.' 

The  mind  dwells  with  delight  on  such  acts  as  these, 
leading  to  such  consequences ;  and  it  will  not  be  irrele- 
vant here  to  anticipate  a  little,  and  to  insert  some  para- 
graphs from  a  letter  written  ten  years  after  Calvert's 
death,  by  Wordsworth  to  his  friend  Sir  George  Beaumont, 
as  it  affords  striking  evidence  of  the  greatness  of  the 
benefit  conferred  upon  him,  and  of  his  own  gratitude  for 
it.  It  also  records  some  other  biographical  particulars, 
which  may  well  be  introduced  here. 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

'  Grasmere,  Feb.  2Qth,  1805. 
•    *  My  dear  Friend, 

'  My  father,  who  was  an  attorney  of  considerable  emi- 
nence, died  intestate,  when  we  were  children ;  and  the 

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ON  RETUSNINO  FROM  FRANCE.  89 

chief  part  of  his  personal  property,  after  his  decease,  was 
expended  in  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  compel  the  late 
Lord  Lonsdale  to  pay  a  debt  of  about  50U0/.  to  my 
father's  estate.  Enough,  however,  was  scraped  together 
to  educate  us  all  in  different  ways.  I,  the  second  son, 
was  sent  to  college  with  a  view  to  the  profession  of  the 
church  or  law;  into  one  of  which  I  should  have  been 
forced  by  necessity,  had  not  a  friend  left  me  900Z.  This 
bequest  was  from  a  young  man  with  whom,  though  I  call 
him  friend,  I  had  had  but  little  connection ;  and  the  act 
was  done  entirely  from  a  confidence  on  his  part  that  I 
had  powers  and  attainments  which  might  be  of  use  to 
mankind.  This  I  have  mentioned,  because  it  was  his 
due,  and  I  thought  the  fact  would  give  you  pleasure. 
Upon  the  interest  of  the  900Z.,  400Z.  being  laid  out  in 
annuity,  with  200Z.  deducted  from  the  principal,  and  lOOZ. 
a  legacy  to  my  sister,  and  a  lOOZ.  more  which  the  "  Ly- 
rical Ballads"  have  brought  me,  my  sister  and  1  con- 
trived to  live  seven  years,  nearly  eight.  Lord  Lonsdale 
then  died,  and  the  present  Lord  Lowther  paid  to  my 
father's  estate  8,500Z.  Of  this  sum  I  believe  1800Z. 
apiece  will  come  to  my  sister  and  myself;  at  least,  would 
have  come :  but  3000Z.  was  lent  out  to  our  poor  brother,^ 
I  mean  taken  from  the  whole  sum,  which  was  about 
1200Z.  more  than  his  share,  which  1200Z.  belonged  to  my 
sister  and  me.  This  1200Z.  we  freely  lent  him  :  whether 
it  was  insured  or  no,  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  dare  say  it 
will  prove  to  be  the  case ;  we  did  not  however  stipulate 
for  its  being  insured.  But  you  shall  faithfully  know  all 
particulars  as  soon  as  I  have  learned  them.' 


'  Captain  John  Wordsworth,  who  perished  by  shipwreck  a  short 
time  before  the  date  of  this  letter. 


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90  FBSLINGS  AND  OPiNIOKS 

Another  circumstance,  no  less  providential  in  Words* 
worth's  life,  must  be  recorded  here.  His  feelings  at  the 
dawn  of  the  French  Revolution  have  been  described.  We 
have  seen  also  the  distress  into  which  he  was  thrown  by 
the  savage  acts  that  polluted  a  cause  which  he  regarded 
as  the  cause  of  Heaven.  His  mind  was  whirled  round 
and  round  in  a  vortex  of  doubt,  and  appeared  to  be  almost 
on  the  point  of  sinking  into  a  gulph  of  despair.  Not  that 
he  ever  lapsed  into  scepticism.  No !  His  early  educa- 
tion, his  love  of  the  glories  and  beauties  of  creation  pro- 
tected him  from  any  approach  to  that.  Yet  at  this  period 
of  his  life,  his  religious  opinions  were  not  very  clearly 
defined.  He  had  too  high  an  opinion  of  the  sufficiency 
of  the  human  will,  and  too  sanguine  a  hope  of  unlimited 
benefits  to  be  conferred  on  society  by  the  human  intellect. 
He  had  a  good  deal  of  Stoical  pride,  mingled  with  not  a 
little  of  Pelagian  self-confidence.  Having  an  inadequate 
perception  of  the  necessity  of  divine  grace,  he  placed  his 
hopes  where  they  could  not  stand;  and  did  not  place 
them,  where,  if  placed,  they  could  not  fall.  He  sought 
for  ideal  perfectibility  where  he  could  not  but  meet  with 
real  frailty,  and  did  not  look  for  peace  where  alone  it 
could  be  found.     Hence  his  mind  was  ill  at  ease. 

It  was  at  this  juncture  that  he  was  restored  to  the  society 
of  her,  who  was  given  him  by  Providence  to  be  the  com- 
panion of  his  future  life  —  his  '  sole  Sister.'  She  was 
nearly  two  years  younger  than  he  was,  endued  with  tender 
sensibility,  with  an  exquisite  perception  of  beauty,  with  a 
retentive  recollection  of  what  she  saw,  with  a  felicitous 
tact  in  discerning,  and  admirable  skill  in  delineating 
natural  objects  with  graphic  accuracy  and  vivid  graceful- 
ness. He  had  addressed  his  'Descriptive  Sketches'  to 
her:  his  poetical  name  was  associated  with  hers.  She 
was  his  companion  in  his  walks  and  in  his  hours  of  retire- 
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OH  EBTVENING  FBOM  FBANCE.  91 

roent.  She  cheered  his  spirits,  and  beguiled  him  of  his 
sadness ;  she  calmed  and  soothed  him,  and  restored  him 
to  himself. 

'  Then  it  was  — 
Thanks  to  the  bounteous  Giver  of  all  good  — 
That  the  beloved  sister,  in  whose  sight 
Those  days  were  passed,     .... 
Maintained  for  me  a  saving  intercourse 
With  my  true  self.'  ^ 

In  the  melancholy  picture  of  one  of  the  characters  in 
*The  Excursion,'  Wordsworth  has  described  his  own 
buoyant  hopes  and  subsequent  depression  during  this 
period;  and  it  was  due  mainly  to  the  influence  of  his 
sister  on  his  mind,  that  he  did  not  display  in  his  own 
person  those  features  of  sadness  which  he  has  portrayed 
with  so  much  feeling  in  that  poem  in  the  picture  of  *  the 
Solitary.'  She  weaned  him  from  contemporary  politics, 
and  won  him  to  poetic  beauty  and  truth. 

'  She,  in  the  midst  of  all,  preserved  him  still 
A  Poet ;  made  him  seek  beneath  that  name. 
And  that  alone,  his  office  upon  earth.'  > 

It  would  be  an  omission  in  this  part  of  our  narrative,  if 
the  reader's  attention  were  not  invited  here  to  Mr.  Words- 
worth's mature  opinions  on  sudden  political  changes.  His 
sentiments  on  this  subject  are  expressed  with  deep  and 
solemn  earnestness  in  his  later  poems,  especially  in  his 
sonnets  dedicated  to  Liberty  and  Order. 

"  Blest  Statesman  He,  whose  mind's  unselfish  will 
Leaves  him  at  ease  among  grand  thoughts :  whose  eye 
Sees  that,  apart  from  magnanimity, 
Wisdom  exists  not )  nor  the  humbler  skill 
Of  Prudence,  disentangling  good  and  ill 

*  Prelude,  p.  309.  a  Ibid.  p.  309. 

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92  FEBLIN6S  AND   OPINIONS 

With  patient  care.    What  tho*  assaults  run  high, 
They  daunt  not  him  who  holds  his  ministry, 
Resolute,  at  all  hazards,  to  fulfil 
Its  duties  J  —  prompt  to  move,  but  firm  to  wait,  — 
Knowing,  things  rashly  sought  are  rarely  found } 
That,  for  the  functions  of  an  ancient  State  — 
Strong  by  her  charters,  free  because  imbound. 
Servant  of  Providence,  not  slave  of  Fate  — 
Perilous  is  sweeping  change,  all  chance  unsound.' 

'  Who  ponders  National  events  shall  find 
An  awful  balancing  of  loss  and  gain, 
Joy  based  on  sorrow;  good  with  ill  combined, 
And  proud  deliverance  issuing  out  of  pain 
And  direful  throes  ;  as  if  the  All-ruling  Mind, 
With  whose  perfection  it  consists  to  ordain 
Volcanic  burst,  earthquake  and  hurricane. 
Dealt  in  like  sort  with  feeble  human  kind 
By  laws  immutable.    But  woe  for  him 
Who  thus  deceived  shall  lend  an  eager  hand 
To  social  havoc.    Is  not  Conscience  ours. 
And  Truth,  whose  eye  guilt  only  can  make  dim ; 
And  Will,  whose  office,  by  divine  command. 
Is  to  control  and  check  disordered  Powers  ? ' 

'  Long-favoured  England !  be  not  thou  misled 
By  monstrous  theories  of  alien  growth. 
Lest  alien  frenzy  seize  thee,  waxing  wroth. 
Self  smitten  till  thy  garments  reek  dyed  red 
With  thy  own  blood,  which  tears  in  torrents  shed 
Fail  to  wash  out,  tears  flowing  ere  thy  troth 
Be  plighted,  not  to  ease  but  sullen  sloth. 
Or  wan  despair —  the  ghost  of  false  hope  fled 
Into  a  shameful  grave.    Among  thy  youth. 
My  Country !  if  such  warning  be  held  dear. 
Then  shall  a  Veteran's  heart  be  thrilled  with  joy, 
One  who  would  gather  from  eternal  truth, 
For  time  and  season,  rules  that  work  to  cheer  — 
Not  scourge,  to  save  the  People  —  not  destroy.'  * 

»Vol.iv.p.  259,  260. 

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ON   BET17RNING  FBOM   FSANCE.  93 

These  warnings  will  come  with  more  force  from  one 
who  was  through  life  one  of  the  most  devoted  friends  of 
true  liberty,  and  in  his  earlier  days  was  beguiled  by  what 
is  sometimes  called  liberty,  but  is  licentiousness,  and 
therefore  tends,  not  to  emancipate,  but  enslave  mankind, 
as  he  himself  says :  — 

'  He  saw  upon  the  soil  of  France 
Rash  Polity  begin  her  maniac  dance, 
Foandations  broken  up,  the  deeps  run  wild, 
Nor  grieved  to  see  (himself  not  unbeguiled)  — 
Woke  from  the  dream,  the  dreamer  to  upbraid. 
And  learn  how  sanguine  expectations  fade 
When  novel  trusts  by  folly  are  betrayed,  — 
To  see  Presumption,  turning  pale,  refrain 
From  further  havoc,  but  repent  in  vain,  — 
Good' aims  lie  down,  and  perish  in  the  road 
Where  guilt  had  urged  them  on  with  ceaseless  goad. 
Proofs  thickening  round  her  that  on  public  ends 
Domestic  virtue  vitally  depends. 
That  civic  strife  can  turn  the  happiest  hearth 
Into  a  grievous  sore  of  self-tormenting  earth/  ^ 

But  we  must  return  to  our  narrative. 

*The  Warning,  vol.  iv.  p.  239. 


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CHAPTER   X. 


RACEDOWN. 


In  the  autumn  of  1795,  William  Wordsworth  and  his 
sister  were  settled  at  Racedown  Lodge,  near  Crewkeme, 
in  Dorsetshire.  The  house  in  which  they  lived  belonged 
to  Mr.  Pinney,  of  Bristol,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Basil  Montagu. 
'  The  country,*  says  his  sister,  in  one  of  her  letters,  '  is 
delightful ;  we  have  charming  walks,  a  good  garden,  a 
pleasant  house,'  —  which  was  pretty  well  stocked  with 
books.  Here  they  employed  themselves  industriously  in 
reading,  — '  if  reading  can  ever  deserve  the  name  of 
industry,'  says  Wordsworth  in  a  letter  to  his  friend 
Mathews  ^,  —  writing,  and  gardening.  '  My  brother,'  she 
says,  'handles  the  spade  with  great  dexterity.'  'She 
herself,'  he  says, '  had  gone  through  half  of  Davila,  and 
yesterday  we  began  Ariosto.'  ^  The  place  was  veiy  re- 
tired, with  little  or  no  society^,  and  a  post  only  once  a 
week.  Writing  afterwards  to  a  friend  in  1799,  she  says, 
'  I  think  Racedown  is  the  place  dearest  to  my  recollections 
upon  the  whole  surface  of  the  island ;  it  was  the  first 
home  I  had.'  She  speaks  with  raptures  of  the  '  lovely 
meadows  above  the  tops  of  the  combs,  and  the  scenery  on 
Pilsden,  Lewisden,  and  Blackdown-hill,  and  the  view  of 
the  sea  from  Lambert's  Castle.' 

In  a  letter  to  his  friend  Wrangham,  on  the  20th  No- 

» Dated  Racedown,  March  21,  [1796.] 

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BACEBOWff.  95 

vember  of  this  year,  he  sends  him  certain  poetical  Imita- 
tations  of  Juvenal,  in  which  he  was  then  occupied ;  and  it 
appears  that  he  and  his  correspondent  had  undertaken  to 
compose  and  publish  conjointly  a  volume  of  such  imi- 
tations. These  specimens  exhibit  poetical  vigour,  com- 
bined with  no  little  asperity  and  rancour  against  the 
abuses  of  the  time,  and  the  vices  of  the  ruling  powers, 
and  the  fashionable  corruptions  of  aristocratical  society. 
He  appears  to  have  been  engaged  in  this  paraphrase  of 
the  Soman  satirist  till  the  following  spring.  But  his 
labours  were  not  brought  to  a  close  ;  and,  ere  many  years 
had  passed,  he  regretted  the  time  spent  upon  the  work. 
Application  being  then  made  to  him  for  permission  to 
publish  what  he  had  written  of  these  imitations,  he  replied 
as  follows :  -^ 

'  Nov,  7,  1806. 
'  I  have  long  since  come  to  a  fixed  resolution  to  steer 
clear  of  personal  satire ;  in  fact,  I  never  will  have  any 
thing  to  do  with  it  as  far  as  concerns  the  private  vices  of 
individuals  on  any  account.  With  respect  to  public^  de- 
linquents or  offenders,  I  will  not  say  the  same  ;  though  I 
should  be  slow  to  meddle  even  with  these.  This  is  a 
rule  which  I  have  laid  down  for  myself,  and  shall  rigidly 
adhere  to ;  though  I  do  not  in  all  cases  blame  those  who 
think  and  act  differently.* 

•  [When  the  Sonnet  against  '  the  Ballot,'  as  proposed  by  Mr. 
Qrote,  —  beginning  '  Said  Secrecy  to  Cowardice  and  Fraud/  first 
appeared  in  the  separate  volume  of  Sonnets,  in  1838,  it  was  in- 
serted in  a  note  with  the  following  remark:  *In  no  part  of  my 
writings  have  I  mentioned  the  name  of  any  contemporary,  that  of 
Buonaparte  only  excepted,  but  for  the  purpose  of  eulogy ;  and 
therefore,  as  in  the  concluding  verse  of  what  follows,  there  is  a 
deviation  from  this  rul^,  (for  the  blank  will  easily  be  filled  up,)  I 

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96  RACEDOWN. 

'  It  will  therefore  follow,  that  I  cannot  lend  any  assist- 
ance to  your  proposed  publication.  The  verses  which 
you  have  of  .mine,  I  should  wish  to  be  destroyed ;  I  have 
no  copy  of  them  myself,  at  least  none  that  I  can  find.  I 
would  most  willingly  give  them  up  to  you,  fame,  profit, 
and  everything,  if  I  thought  either  true  fame  or  profit 
could  arise  out  of  them.' 

His  next  poetical  employment  was  of  a  very  different 
nature.  He  had  completed  his  'Salisbury  Plain,'  or 
'  Guilt  and  Sorrow,'  and  on  October,  24th,  1796,  his  sister 
describes  him  as  '  now  ardent  in  the  composition  of  a 
tragedy,'  the  '  Boedeeees.'  The  subject  of  this  play  had 
been  probably  suggested  to  him  in  his  residence  at  Pen- 
rith and  on  the  Scottish  border,  where  are  so  many  castles 
and  other  monuments  connected  with  the  age  to  which 
this  drama  belongs  —  the  time  of  Henry  III. 

Though  written  in  1795-6,  it  did  not  see  the  light  till 
near  fifty  years  afterwards.  It  was  first  published  in  1842. 
In  4he  year  1843,  he  made  the  following  observations  in 
speaking  with  respect  to  it  i :  — 

'  The  Borderers ;  a  Tragedy,  —  Of  this  dramatic  work 
I  have  little  to  say  in  addition  to  the  short  printed  note 
which  will  be  found  attached  to  it.  It  was  composed  at 
Racedown  in  Dorsetshire,  during  the  latter  part  of  the 
year  1795,  and  in  the  course  of  the  following  year.  Had 
it  been  the  work  of  a  later  period  of  life,  it  would  have 

have  excluded  the  Sonnet  from  the  body  of  the  collection,  and 
placed  it  here  as  a  public  record  of  my  detestation,  both  as  a  man 
and  a  citizen,  of  the  proposed  contrivance/  —  h.  r.] 

» From  MSS.  I.  F. 

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BACEDOWN.  97 

been  different  in  some  respects  from  what  it  is  now.  The 
plot  would  have  been  something  more  complete,  and  a 
greater  variety  of  characters  introduced,  to  relieve  the 
mind  from  the  pressure  of  incidents  so  mournful ;  the 
manners  also  would  have  been  more  attended  to.  My 
care  was  almost  exclusively  given  to  the  passions  and  the 
characters,  and  the  positions  in  which  the  persons  in  .the 
drama  stood  relatively  to  each  other,  that  the  reader  (for  I 
never  thought  ef  the  stage  at  the  time  it  was  written) 
might  be  moved,  and  to  a  degree  instructed,  by  lights 
penetrating  somewhat  into  the  depths  of  our  nature.  In 
this  endeavour,  I  cannot  think,  upon  a  very  late  review, 
that  I  have  failed.  As  to  the  scene  and  period  of  action, 
little  more  was  required  for  my  purpose  than  the  absence 
of  established  law  and  government,  so  that  the  agents 
might  be  at  liberty  to  act  on  their  own  impulses.  Never- 
theless, I  do  remember,  that  having  a  wish  to  colour  the 
manners  in  some  degree  from  local  history  more  than  my 
knowledge  enabled  me  to  do,  I  read  Redpath's  "  History 
of  the  Borders,"  but  found  there  nothing  to  my  purpose. 
I  once  made  an  observation  to  Sir  W.  Scott,  in  which  he 
concurred,  that  it  was  difficult  to  conceive  how  so  dull  a 
book  could  be  written  on  such  a  subject.  Much  about  the 
same  time,  but  a  little  after,  Coleridge  was  employed  in 
writing  his  tragedy  of  "  Remorse ; "  and  it  happened  soon 
after  that,  through  one  of  the  Mr.  Pooles,  Mr.  Knight,  the 
actor,  heard  that  we  had  been  engaged  in  writing  plays, 
and,  upon  his  suggestion,  mine  was  curtailed,  and  (I  be- 
lieve, with  Coleridge's)  was  offered  to  Mr.  Harris,  man- 
ager of  Covent  Garden.  For  myself,  I  had  no  hope,  nor 
even  a  wish  (though  a  successful  play  would  in  the  then 
state  of  my  finances  have  been  a  most  welcome  piece  of 
good  fortune),  that  he  should  accept  my  performance ;  so 
that  I  incurred  no  disappointment  when  the  piece  was 

VOL.  I.  7 

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98  B:ACE!DOWN. 

judiciously  returned  as  not  calculated  for  the  stage.  In 
this  judgment  I  entirely  concurred ;  and  had  it  heen  other* 
wise,  it  was  so  natural  for  me  to  shrank  from  public 
notice,  that  any  hope  I  might  have  had  of  success  would 
not  hare  reconciled  me  altogether  to  suoh  an  exhibition 
Mr.  C.'s  play  was,  as  is  well  known,  brought  forward 
several  years  after,  dirough  the  kindness  of  Mr.  Sheridan. 
In  conclusion,  I  may  observe,  that  while  I  was  composing 
this  play,  I  wrote  a  short  essay,  illustrative  of  that  consti* 
tution  and  those  tendencies  of  human  nature,  which  make 
the  apparently  motiveless  actions  of  bad  men  intelligible 
to  careful  observers.  This  was  partly  done  with  reference 
to  the  character  of  Oswald,  and  his  persevering  endeavour 
to  lead  the  man  he  disliked  into  so  heinous  a  crime  ;  but 
still  more  to  preserve  in  my  distinct  remembrance  what  I 
had  observed  of  transitions  in  character,  and  the  reflections 
I  had  been  led  to  make,  during  the  time  I  was  a  witness 
of  the  changes  through  which   the   French   Revolution 


It  was  in  the  month  of  June,  1797,  that  Samuel  Tayloe 
Coleridge  first  came  to  Racedown. 

He  was  two  years  and  a  half  younger  than  Words- 
worth. He  was  admitted  at  Jesus  College,  Cambridge,  in 
February,  1791,  and  quitted  it  at  the  close  of  1794.  ^  On 
the  4th  October  of  the  following  year  he  was  married  at 
Bristol,  and  went  to  reside  at  Clevedon.  On  the  1st 
March,  1796,  he  commenced  the  publication  of  *The 
Watchman,'  which  continued  to  appear  periodically  till 
the  13th  May  following.  His  first  volume  of  poems  was 
published  by  Mr.  Cottle,  at  Bristol,  in  the  beginning  of 
April,  1796. 

The  first  impression  made  by  the  appearance  of  Mr. 
Coleridge  is  thus  described  by  Mi»  Wordsworth,  in  a 

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letter  to  a  friend  who  had  left  Racedowa  early  ia 
1797:— 

^  You  had  a  great  loss  in  not  seeing  Coleridge.  He  is 
a  wonderful  man.  His  conversation  teems  with  soul, 
mind,  and  spirit.  Then  he  is  so  benevolent,  so  good- 
tempered  and  cheerful,  and  like  William,  interests  himself 
so  much  about  every  little  trifle.  At  first  I  thought  him 
very  plain,  that  is,  for  about  three  minutes :  he  is  pale, 
thin,  has  a  wide  mouth,  thick  lips,  and  not  very  good 
teeth,  longish,  loose-growing,  half-curling,  rough,  black 
hair^  (in  both  these  respects  a  striking  eoatrast  to  his 
friend  Wordsworth,  who  in  his  youth  had  beautiful  teeth 
and  light  brown  hair).  '  But,  if  you  hear  him  speak  for 
five  minutes  you  think  no  more  of  them.  His  eye  is 
lai^e  and  full,  and  not  very  dark,  but  grey,  such  an  eye 
as  would  receive  from  a  heavy  soul  the  dullest  expressioa; 
but  it  speaks  every  emotion  of  his  animated  mind :  it  ha« 
more  of  "  the  poet's  eye  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling  "  than  I 
ever  witnessed.  He  has  fine  dark  eyebrows,  and  an  ove^ 
hanging  forehead. 

^  The  first  thing  that  was  read  after  he  came  was  Wilr 
Ham's  uew  poem,  "  Ruined  Cottage,"  with  which  he  waA 
much  delighted ;  and  after  tea  he  repeated  to  us  two  actft 
and  a. half  of  his  tragedy,  "  Osorio."  The  next  mornings 
William  read  hi^  tragedy,  "  The  Borderers." '  i 

With  this  description  of  Coleridge  may  bo  compared 
the  picture  drawn  by  Wordsworth  of  his  friend  in  the 
poem  entitled  ^Stanzas  written  in  my  Pocket  Copy  of 
Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence ; '  where,  after  the  Poet 

*  For  another  description  of  Coleridge's  personal  appearance, 
and  for  an  account  of  the  best  portrait  of  him  —  that  by  Allston, 
painted  at  Rome  for  Mr.  Josiah  Wade,  in  1806,  —  see  Biog.  Lit. 
vol.  ii.  p.  386,  edit.  1847. 

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100  RACEDOWN. 

has    delineated  himself,  his  brother  bard  is  thus  por- 
trayed :  — 

/  With  him  there  often  walked  in  friendly  guise, 
Or  lay  upon  the  moss  by  brook  or  tree, 
A  noticeable  man,  with  large  grey  eyes, 
And  a  pale  face  that  seemed  undoubtedly 
As  if  a  blooming  face  it  ought  to  be ; 
Heavy  his  low- hung  lip  did  oft  appear, 
Deprest  by  weight  of  musing  Phantasy  j 
Profound  his  forehead  was,  though  not  severe.* 

#    -        #  #  #  #  # 

He  would  entice  that  other  man  to  hear 
•  His  music,  and  to  view  his  imagery. 

And,  sooth,  these  two  were  to  each  other  dear. 
No  livelier  love  in  such  a  place  could  be.' 

Coleridge,  writing  at  the  time  of  this  visit,  to  his  friend 
Cottle 2  (June,  1797), thus  speaks :  —  'I  am  sojourning  for 
a  few  days  at  Racedown,  Dorset,  the  mansion  of  our 
friend  Wordsworth.  He  admires  my  tragedy,  which  gives 
me  great  hopes :  he  has  written  a  tragedy  himself.  I 
speak  with  heartfelt  sincerity,  and  I  think  unblinded  judg- 
ment, when  I  tell  you  that  I  feel  a  little  man  by  his  side.' 
And  (March,  1798), '  When  I  speak  in  the  terms  of  admi- 
ration due  to  his  intellect,  I  fear  lest  those  terms  should 
keep  out  of  sight  the  amiableness  of  his  manners.  He 
has  written  near  twelve  hundred  lines  of  blank  verse, 
superiour,  I  hesitate  not  to  aver,  to  anything  in  our  lan- 
guage which  in  any  way  resembles  it.' 

Coleridge,  in  1797,  at  Stowey,  thus  describes  Miss 
Wordsworth,  in  a  letter  to  the  same  friend.  '  Words- 
worth and  his  exquisite  sister  are  with  me.  She  is  a 
woman  indeed,  in  mind  I  mean,  and  in  heart;  for  her 

» Vol  i.  p.  212,  213. 

s  See  Cottle's  Early  Recollections  of  Coleridge,  vol.  i.  p.  250-2. 

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i 


RACEDOWN.  101 

person  is  such  that  if  you  expected  to  see  a  pretty  woman, 
you  would  think  her  ordinary ;  if  you  expected  to  see  an 
ordinary  woman  you  would  think  her  pretty,  but  her  man- 
ners are  simple,  ardent,  impressive.  In  every  motion  her 
innocent  soul  out-beams  so  brightly,,  that  who  saw  her 
would  say  "  Guilt  was  a  thing  impossible  with  her."  Her 
information  various ;  her  eye  watchful  in  minutest  observa- 
tion of  Nature ;  and  her  taste  a  perfect  electrometer.* 

The  occasional  intercourse  which  the  two  poets  enjoyed 
at  Racedown,  made  them  desirous  of  nearer  intimacy; 
and,  in  the  following  month,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister 
moved  to  another  abode,  near  the  village  of  Nether- 
Stowey,  in  Somersetshire,  where  Coleridge  then  lived. 


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CHAPTER    XI, 


▲LFOXDEN. 


*AIfixden  near  Nefhtr^Btonmy,  Somerwitaiure, 
AuguMt  14^  1797. 

*  Here  we  are,'  say^  Miss  Wordsworth,  in  a  letter  to  a 
friend,  bearing  the  above  date, '  in  a  large  mansion,  in  a 
large  park,  with  seventy  head  of  deer  around  us.  But  I 
must  begin  with  the  day  of  leaving  Racedown  to  pay 
Coleridge  a  visit.  You  know  how  much  we  were  de- 
lighted with  the  neighbourhood  of  Stowey.'  *  There  is 
every  thing  there,'  she  says  in  a  previous  letter,  4th  July, 
1797,  'sea,  woods  wild  as  fancy  ever  painted,  brooks 
clear  and  pebbly  as  in  Cumberland,  villages  so  romantic  ; 
and  William  and  I,  in  a  wander  by  ourselves,  found  out 
a  sequestered  waterfall  in  a  dell  formed  by  steep  hills 
covered  with  full-grown  timber-trees.  The  woods  are  as 
fine  as  those  at  Lowther,  and  the  country  more  romantic  ; 
it  has  the  character  of  the  less  grand  parts  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  the  lakes.'  In  her  next  letter  (of  August  14), 
Miss  Wordsworth  continues :  *  The  evening  that  I  wrote 
to  you,  William  and  I  had  rambled  as  far  as  this  house, 
and  pryed  into  the  recesses  of  our  little  brook,  but  without 
any  more  fixed  thoughts  upon  it  than  some  dreams  of 
happiness  in  a  little  cottage,  and  passing  wishes  that  such 
a  place  might  be  found  out  We  spent  a  fortnight  at 
Coleridge's :  in  the  course  of  that  time  we  heard  that  this 
house  was  to  let,  applied  for  it,  and  took  it     Our  princi- 

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AtPOtD^H*  108 

pal  inducement  was  Coleridge^s  society.    It  was  a  month 
yesterday  since  we  came  to  Alfoxden. 

*  The  house  is  a  large  mansion,  with  furniture  enough 
for  a  dozen  families  like  ours.     There  is  a  very  excellent 
garden,  well  stocked  with  vegetahles  and  fruit.     The  gar- 
den is  at  the  end  of  the  house,  and  our  favourite  parlour, 
as  at  Racedown,  looks  that  way.     In  front  is  a  little  court, 
with  grass  plot,  gravel  walk,  and  shrubs ;  the  moss  roses 
were  ki  full  beauty  a  motith  ago.     The  front  of  the  house 
is  to  the  south,  but  it  is  screened  from  the  sun  by  a  high 
hill  which  rises  immediately  from  it.     This  hill  is  beauti- 
ful, scattered  irregularly  and  abundantly  with  trees,  and 
topped  with  fern,  which  spreads  a  considerable  way  down 
it     The  deer  dwell  here,  and  sheep,  so  that  we  have  a 
living  prospect.     From  the  end  of  the  house  we  have  ft 
view  of  the   sea,  over  a  woody  meadow-country;   and 
exactly  opposite  the  window  where  I  now  sit  is  an  im- 
mense wood,  whose  round  top  from  this  point  has  exactly 
the  appearance  of  a  mighty  dome.     In  some  parts  of  this 
wood  there  is  an  under  grove  of  hollies  which  are  now 
Very  beautiful.     In  a  glen  at  the  bottom  of  the  wood  is 
the  waterfall  of  which  I  spoke,  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from 
the  house.     We  are  three  miles  from  Stowey,  and  not 
two  miles  from  the  sea.     Wherever  we   turn  we  have 
woods,  smooth  downs,  and  valleys  with  small  brooks  run- 
ning down  them,  through  green  meadows,  hardly  ever 
intersected  with  hedgerows,  but  scattered  over  with  treea. 
The  hills  that  cradle  these  valleys  are  either  covered  with 
fern  and  bilberries,  or  oak  woods,  which  are  cut  for  char- 
coal  .   .   .    Walks  extend  for  miles  over  the  hill-tops; 
the  great  beauty  of  which  is  their  wild  simplicity :  they 
are  perfectly  smooth,  without  rocks. 

'The  Tor  of  Glastonbury  is  before  our  eyes  during 
more  than  half  of  our  walk  to  Stowey ;  and  in  the  park 

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104  ALFOXDEN. 

wherever  we  go,  keeping  about  fifteen  yards  above  the 
house,  it  makes  a  part  of  our  prospect.* 

Such  was  the  place  in  which  Wordsworth  now  com- 
menced his  residence,  and  where  he  remained  for  about 
a  year ;  a  period  which  he  describes  ^  as  a  very  pleasant 
and  productive  time  of  his  life.' 

Many  of  his  smaller  pieces  were  composed  at  Alfoxden, 
and  are  descriptive  of  it  and  its  neighbourhood. 

The  Night  Piece,  beginning  '  The  sky  is  overcast,'  ^ 
was  '  composed  on  the  road  between  Nether-Stowey  and 
Alfoxden  extempore.  I  distinctly  recollect,'  he  says,  in 
1834,2  i  tije  very  moment  I  was  struck  as  described,  "  he 
looks  up  at  the  clouds."  ' 

The  'Anecdote  for  Fathers,' 3  showing  how  children 
may  be  betrayed  by  parents  into  a  habit  of  telling  false- 
hoods, was  suggested  in  front  of  the  house  at  Alfoxden. 
The  boy  was  Basil  (a  child  of  Mr.  Basil  Montagu,)  who 
lived  under  Mr.  Wordsworth's  care.* 

The  name  of  Kilve  in  the  poem, '  is  from  a  village  on 
the  Bristol  Channel,  about  a  mile  from  Alfoxden ;  and 
the  name  of  Liswyn  Farm  was  taken  from  a  beautiful 
spot  on  the  Wye.' 

In  specifying  these  details,  Mr.  Wordsworth  added  the 
following  particulars  :  — 

'  Mr.  Coleridge,  my  sister,  and  I  had  been  visiting  the 
famous  John  Thelwall,  who  had  taken  refuge  from  poli- 
tics, after  a  trial  for  high  treason,  with  a  view  to  bring  up 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  95.  *  MSS.  Notes.  »  Vol.  1.  p.  164. 

*  [This  piece  was  entitled  '  Anecdote  for  Fathers,  shotcing  how 
the  Art  of  Lying  may  be  taught.^  In  the  edition  of  1845  in  one 
volume,  the  Author  omitted  the  second  clause  of  the  title,  and  sub- 
stituted the  following  motto,  ^Retine  vim  istam,  falsa  enim  dicam, 
n  eoges.  —  Eusebius.'  —  h.  r.] 

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ALFOZBEN.  105 

his  family  by  the  profits  of  agriculture,  which  proved  as 
unfortunate  a  speculation  as  that  he^iad  fled  from.  Cole- 
ridge and  he  had  been  public  lecturers,  Coleridge  ming- 
ling with  his  politics  theology,  from  which  the  other 
elocutionist  abstained,  unless  it  were  for  the  sake  of  a 
sneer.  This  quondam  community  of  public  employment 
induced  Thelwall  to  visit  Coleridge,  at  Nether-Stowey, 
where  he  fell  in  my  way.  He  really  was  a  man  of  ex- 
traordinary talent,  an  affectionate  husband,  and  a  good 
father.  Though  brought  up  in  the  City,  on  a  tailor's 
board,  he  was  truly  sensible  of  the  beauty  of  natural 
objects.  I  remember  once,  when  Coleridge,  he,  and  I, 
were  seated  upon  the  turf  on  the  brink  of  the  stream,  in 
the  most  beautiful  part  of  the  most  beautiful  glen  of  Alfox- 
den,  Coleridge  exclaimed,  '  This  is  a  place  to  reconcile 
one  to  all  the  jarrings  and  conflicts  of  the  wide  world.' 
*Nay,'  said  Thelwall,  'to  make  one  forget  them  alto- 
gether.' The  visit  of  this  man  to  Coleridge  was,  as  I 
believe  Coleridge  has  related,  the  occasion  of  a  spy  being 
sent  by  government  to  watch  our  proceedings,  which 
were,  I  can  say  with  truth,  such  as  the  world  at  large 
would  have  thought  ludicrously  harmless.' 

In  Novemlier,  1797,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  accom- 
panied Coleridge  in  a  pedestrian  tour  along  the  sea-coast 
to  Minehead,  thence  to  Porlock.  From  Porlock,  says 
Miss  Wordsworth, '  we  kept  close  to  the  shore  about  four 
miles.  Our  road  lay  through  wood,  rising  almost  perpen- 
dicularly from  the  sea,  with  views  of  the  opposite  moun- 
tains of  Wales  :  thence  we  came  by  twilight  to  Lymmouth, 
in  Devonshire.  The  next  morning  we  were  guided  to  a 
valley  at  the  top  of  one  of  those  immense  hills  which 
open  at  each  end  to  the  sea,  and  is  from  its  rocky  appear- 
ance called  the  Valley  of  Stones.     We  mounted  a  cliff  at 

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106  ALFOXDIBII. 

the  end  of  the  valley,  and  looked  from  h  umnediatelj  on 
to  the  sea.*  • 

They  were  struck  by  the  wild  grandeur  of  this  scenery, 
tond  returned  much  gratified  by  the  tour. 

On  the  20th  November,  Miss  Wordsworth  writes,  *  We 
have  been  on  another  tour :  we  set  out  last  Monday  even- 
ing at  half-past  four.  The  evening  was  dark  and  cloudy ; 
we  went  eight  miles,  William  and  Coleridge  employing 
themselves  in  laying  the  plan  of  a  ballad,  to  be  published 
with  some  pieces  of  William's.' 

Wordsworth  refers  to  these  and  other  rambles  in  the 
company  of  Coleridge,  as  follows :  — 

'  Beloved  Friend ! 
When  looking  back,  thou  seest,  in  clearer  view 
Than  any  liveliest  sight  of  yesterday, 
That  summer,  under  whose  indulgent  skies, 
TTpoii  smooth  Quantock's  airy  ridge  we  roved 
Unchecked,  or  loitered  'mid  her  sylvan  combs : 
Thou  in  bewitching  words,  with  happy  heart, 
Didst  chaunt  the  vision  of  that  Ancient  Man, 
The  bright-eyed  Mariner,  and  rueful  woes 
Didst  utter  of  the  Lady  Christabel ; 
And  I,  associate  with  such  labour,  steeped 
In  soft  forgetfulness  the  livelong  hours. 
Murmuring  of  him  who,  joyous  hap,  was  found. 
After  the  perils  of  his  moonlight  ride, 
Near  the  loud  waterfall ;  or  her  who  sate 
In  misery  near  the  miserable  Thorn.'  * 

Speaking  of  the  poem  Wt  are  Seven^^  he  says : 
'  This  was  written  at  Alfoxden  in  the  spring  of  1798, 
under  circumstances  somewhat  remarkable.     The  little 
girl  who  is  the  heroine  I  met  within  the  area  of  Goderich 
Castle  in  the  year  1793. 

»  Prelude,  p.  369.  «  MSS.  I.  F. 

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ALPOXOEN.  107 

*'  In  leferenoe  to  this  poem,  I  'vrill  here  mention  one  of 
the  most  noticeable  facts  in  my  own  poetic  history,  and 
that  of  Mr.  Coleridge.  In  the  autumn  of  1797,  he,  my 
sister,  and  myself,  started  from  Alfoxden  pretty  late  in 
the  afternoon,  with  a  view  to  visit  Linton,  and  the  Valley 
of  Stones  near  to  it ;  and  as  our  united  funds  were  very 
small,  we  agreed  to  defray  the  expense  of  the  tour  by 
Writing  a  poem,  to  be  sent  to  the  **  New  Monthly  Maga- 
fcine,'*  set  up  by  Phillips,  the  bookseller,  and  edited  by  Dr. 
Aikin.  Accordingly  we  set  off,  and  proceeded,  along  the 
Quantock  Hills,  towards  Watchet ;  and  in  the  course  <^ 
this  walk  was  planned  the  poem  of  the  "  Ancient  Mari- 
ner," founded  on  a  dream,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  said,  of  his 
friend  Mr.  Cruikshank.  Much  the  greatest  part  of  the 
iStory  was  Mr.  Coleridge's  invention ;  but  certain  parts  I 
Suggested ;  for  example,  some  crime  was  to  be  committed 
which  should  bring  upon  the  Old  Navigator,  as  Coleridge 
afterwards  delighted  to  call  him,  the  spectral  persecution, 
as  a  consequence  of  that  crime  and  his  own  wanderings* 
I  had  been  reading  in  Shelvocke's  Voyages,  a  day  or  two 
before,  that,  while  doubling  Cape  Horn,  they  frequently 
saw  albatrosses  in  that  latitude,  the  largest  sort  of  sea- 
fowl,  some  extending  their  wings  twelve  or  thirteen  feet. 
**  Suppose,*'  said  I,  "  you  represent  him  as  having  killed 
one  of  these  birds  on  entering  the  South  Sea,  and  that  the 
tutelary  spirits  of  these  regions  take  upon  them  to  avenge 
Ae  crime."  The  incident  was  thought  fit  for  the  purpose, 
*nd  adopted  accordingly.  I  also  suggested  the  navigation 
of  the  ship  by  the  dead  men,  but  do  not  recollect  that  I 
had  anything  more  to  do  with  the  scheme  of  the  poem. 
The  gloss  with  which  it  was  subsequently  accompanied 
was  not  thought  of  by  either  of  us  at  the  time,  at  least  not 
a  hint  of  it  was  given  to  me,  and  I  have  no  doubt  it  was  a 
gratuitous  after-thought.  We  began  the  composition  to- 
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108  ALFOXDEN. 

gether,  on  that  to  me  memorable  evening :  I  furnished  two 
or  three  lines  at  the  beginning  of  the  poem,  in  particu- 
ular  — 

"  And  listened  like  a  three  years*  child  ; 
The  Mariner  had  his  will." 

*  These  trifling  contributions,  all  but  one,  which  Mr.  C. 
has  with  unnecessary  scrupulosity  recorded,  slipped  out 
of  his  mind,  as  they  well  might.  As  we  endeavoured  to 
proceed  conjointly  (I  speak  of  the  same  evening),  our 
respective  manners  proved  so  widely  different,  that  it 
would  have  been  quite  presumptuous  in  me  to  do  any- 
thing but  separate  from  an  undertaking  upon  which  I 
could  only  have  been  a  clog.  We  returned  after  a  few 
days  from  a  delightful  tour,  of  which  I  have  many  pleas- 
ant, and  some  of  them  droll  enough,  recollections.  We 
returned  by  Dulverton  to  Alfoxden.  The  "  Ancient  Mar- 
iner" grew  and  grew  till  it  became  too  important  for  our 
first  object,  which  was  limited  to  our  expectation  of  five 
pounds ;  and  we  began  to  think  of  a  volume  which  was 
to  consist,  as  Mr.  Coleridge  has  told  the  world,  of  poems 
chiefly  on  supernatural  subjects,  taken  from  common  life, 
but  looked  at,  as  much  as  might  be,  through  an  imagina- 
tive medium.  Accordingly  I  wrote  The  Idiot  Boy^  Her 
Eyes  are  wild^  4*^.,  and  We  are  Seven^  The  Thom^  and 
some  others.  To  return  to  We  are  Seven^  the  piece  that 
called  forth  this  note.  I  composed  it  while  walking  in 
the  grove  at  Alfoxden.  My  friends  will  not  deem  it  too 
trifling  to  relate,  that  while  walking  to  and  fro  I  composed 
the  last  stanza  first,  having  begun  with  the  last  line. 
When  it  was  all  but  finished,  I  came  in  and  recited  it 
to  Mr.  Coleridge  and  my  sister,  and  said,  "  A  prefatory 
stanza  must  be  added,  and  I  should  sit  down  to  our  little 
tea-meal  with  greater  pleasure  if  my  task  was  finished," 

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ALFOXBEK.  109 

I  mentioned  in  substance  what  I  wished  to  be  expressed, 
and  Coleridge  immediately  threw'  off  the  stanza  thus : 

"  A  little  child,  dear  brother  Jem." 

I  objected  to  the  rhyme,  "  dear  brother  Jem,"  as  being 
ludicrous ;  but  we  all  enjoyed  the  joke  of  hitching  in  our 
friend  James  Tobin's  name,  who  was  familiarly  called 
Jem.  He  was  the  brother  of  the  dramatist.  The  said 
Jem  got  a  sight  of  the  ''  Lyrical  Ballads  "  as  it  was  going 
through  the  press  at  Bristol,  during  which  time  I  was 
residing  in  that  city.  One  evening  he  came  to  me  with  a 
grave  face,  and  said,  '^  Wordsworth,  I  have  seen  the  vol- 
ume that  Coleridge  and  you  are  about  to  publish.  There 
is  one  poem  in  it  which  I  earnestly  entreat  you  will 
cancel,  for,  if  published,  it  will  make  you  everlastingly 
ridiculous."  I  answered,  that  I  felt  much  obliged  by  the 
interest  he  took  in  my  good  name  as  a  writer,  and  begged 
to  know  what  was  the  unfortunate  piece  he  alluded  to. 
He  said,  "It  is  called  We  are  Seven.''  "Nay,"  said  I, 
^  that  shall  take  its  chance,  however ; "  and  he  led  me 
in  despair.  I  have  only  to  add,  that  in  the  spring  of  1841, 
I  visited  Groderich  Castle,  not  having  seen  that  part  of  the 
Wye  since  I  met  the  little  girl  there  in  1793.  It  would 
have  given  me  greater  pleasure  to  have  found  in  the 
neighbouring  hamlet  traces  of  one  who  had  interested  me 
so  much,  but  that  was  impossible,  as,  unfortunately,  I  did 
not  even  know  her  name.  The  ruin,  from  its  position  and 
features,  is  a  most  impressive  object.  I  could  not  but 
deeply  regret  that  its  solemnity  was  impaired  by  a  fan- 
tastic new  castle  set  up  on  a  projection  of  the  same  ridge, 
as  if  to  show  how  far  modern  art  can  go  in  surpassing  all 
that  could  be  done  by  antiquity  and  nature  with  their 
united  graces,  remembrances,  and  associations.' 

Among  other  poems  composed  about  the  same  time 

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1 IQ  ALPQZnSK* 

wefe,  The  Thorn;  Goody  Blake  and  Harry  Gill;  Her 
Eyes  are  wild;  Simon  Lee;  Expostulation  and  Reply i 
The  Tables  Turned;  A  Whirl-blast;  The  Complaint  of  a 
Forsaken  Indian  Woman ;  The  Last  of  the  Flock ;  and 
Tlie  Idiot  Boy. 

On  some  of  these  poems  the  author  communicated  the 
following  particulars  ^ :  — 

The  2%om«  — Alfoxden,  1798  — 'arose  out  of  my 
observing  on  the  ridge  of  Quantock  Hill,  on  a  stormy 
day,  a  Thorn,  which  I  had  often  passed  in.  calm  and 
bright  weather  without  noticing  it.  I  said  to  myself,  caii« 
not  I  hy  some  invention  do  as  much  to  make  this  Thorn 
prominently  an  impressive  object  as  the  storm  has  made 
it  to  my  eyes  at  this  moment  ?  I  began  the  poem  accord-* 
ingly,  and  composed  it  with  great  rapidity.  Sir  George 
Beaumont  painted  a  picture  from  it,  which  Wilkie  thought 
his  best.  He  gave  it  to  me ;  though,  when  he  saw  it  sev» 
eral  times  at  Rydal  Mount  afterwards,  he  said,  '^  I  could 
make  a  better,  and  would  like  to  paint  ^e  same  subject 
over  again."  The  sky  in  this  picture  is  nobly  done,  but 
it  reminds  one  too  much  of  Wilson.  The  only  fault, 
however,  of  any  consequence,  is  the  female  figure,  which 
is  too  old  and  decrepit  for  one  likely  to  frequent  an  emi- 
nence on  such  a  call.'  • 

Goody  Blake  and  Harry  Gill?  —  'Written  at  Alfbx- 
den,  1798.     The  incident  from  Dr.  Darwin's  Zoonomia.' 

Simon  Lee,^  — '  This  old  man  had  been  huntsman  to 
the  Squires  of  Alfoxden,  which,  at  the  time  we  occupied 
it,  belonged  to  a  minor.  The  old  man's  cottage  stood  on 
the  Common  a  little  way  from  the  entrance  to  the  Park, 

'"MSS.LF.  8  VoL  ii.  p.  130.  3  Vol.  v.  p.  34. 

*  Vol.  iv.  p.  185. 

*  [See  note  on  this  poem  at  the  end  of  this  chapter.— a.  &.] 

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AKFoxmrii^  111 

But,  in  1841,  it  had  disappeared.  Many  other  changes 
had  taken  place  in  the  adjoining  village,  which  I  could 
not  hut  notice  with  a  regret  more  natural  than  well-con« 
sidered.  Improvements  hut  rarely  appear  such  to  those 
who  after  long  intervals  of  time  revisit  places  they  have 
had  much  pleasure  in.  It  is  unnecessary  to  add,  the  &ct 
was  as  mentioned  in  the  poem;  and  I  have,  afler  an 
interval  of  forty-five  years,  the  image  of  the  old  man  as 
fin^  hefore  my  eyes  as  if  I  had  seen  him  yesterday. 
The  expression  when  the  hounds  were  out,  ^^  I  dearly  love 
their  voice,''  was  word  for  word  from  his  own  lips.' 
.  Expostul(Uu)ik  and  Reply .^  *  -<-  ^  This  poem  is  a  favourite 
among  the  Quakers,  as  I  have  learnt  on  many  occasions. 
It  was  composed  in  front  of  the  house  at  Alfoxden,  in  the 
spring  of  1798*' 

The  Tables  Tamed?  —  *  Composed  at  the  same  time.' 
A  Whirl-blast  from  behind  the  fltW.^-^' Observed  in 
the  holly  grove  at  Alfoxden,  where  these  verses  were 
written  in  the  spring  of  1799.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  again 
seeing,  with  dear  friends  ^,  this  grove  in  unimpaired  beauty 
forty-one  years  after.' 

The  Complaint  of  a  forsaken  Indian  Woman,^  —  'Writ- 
ten at  Alfoxden  in  1798,  where  I  read  Heame's  Journey 
with  great  interest.  It  was  composed  for  the  volume  of 
** Lyrical  Ballads."' 

»  Vol.  iv.  p.  179.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  180.  »  Vol.  ii.  p.  17. 

*  Namely,  Mrs.  "Wordsworth,  Miss  Fenwick,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Quillinan,  and  Mr.  "Wm.  Wordsworth,  May  13,  1841. 

5  Vol.  i.  p.  226. 

♦  [  In  the  Preface  to  the  first  volume  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads, 
first  edition,  it  is  stated,  '  The  lines  entitled  '<  Expostulation  and 
Keply,"  and  those  which  follow,  arose  out  of  conversation  with  a 
friend  who  was  somewhat  unreasonably  attached  to  modern  books 
of  moral  philosophy.*  — h.  a.] 

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112  ALFOZDEM. 

The  Last  of  the  Flocks — *  Composed  at  the  same  time, 
and  for  the  same  purpose.  The  incident  occurred  in  the 
village  of  Holford,  close  by  Alfoxden.' 

The  Idiot  Boy.^  — Alfoxden,  1798.  '  The  last  stanza, 
*'  The  cocks  did  crow,  and  the  moon  did  shine  so  cold," 
was  the  foundation  of  the  whole.  The  words  were  re- 
ported to  me  by  my  dear  friend  Thomas  Poole;  but  I 
have  since  heard  the  same  reported  of  other  idiots.  Let 
me  add,  that  this  long  poem  was  composed  in  the  groves 
of  Alfoxden  almost  extempore ;  not  a  word,  I  believe, 
being  corrected,  though  one  stanza  was  omitted.  I  men- 
tion this  in  gratitude  to  those  happy  moments,  for,  in 
truth,  I  never  wrote  anything  with  so  much  glee.'  • 

»  Vol.  i.  p.  228.  8  Vol.  i.  p.  253. 

^  [See  post  on  the  subject  of  this  poem,  the  admirable  reflections 
in  Wordsworth's  letter  at  the  close  of  Chap,  xviii. — h.  r.] 

pIoTE  on  '  The  Thom^  referred  to  above. 

The  following  note  on  this  poem  was  added  in  the  later  editions 
of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads ' : 

'  This  Poem  ought  to  have  been  preceded  by  an  introductory 
Poem,  which  I  have  been  prevented  from  writing,  by  never  having 
felt  myself  in  a  mood  when  it  was  probable  that  I  should  write  it 
well.  The  character  which  I  have  here  introduced  speaking  is 
sufficiently  common.  The  reader  will,  perhaps,  have  a  general 
notion  of  it,  if  he  has  ever  known  a  man,  a  Captain  of  a  small 
trading  vessel,  for  example,  who  being  past  the  middle  age  of  life, 
bad  retired  upon  an  annuity  or  small  independent  income  to  some 
village  or  country  town  of  which  he  was  not  a  native,  or  in  which 
he  had  not  been  accustomed  to  live.  Such  men,  having  little  to 
do,  become  credulous  and  talkative  from  indolence ;  and  from  the 
same  cause,  and  other  predisposing  causes  by  which  it  is  probable 
that  such  men  may  have  been  affected,  they  are  prone  to  super- 
stition. On  which  account  it  appeared  to  me  proper  to  select  a 
character  like  this  to  exhibit  some  of  the  general  laws  by  which 

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ALFOXDEN.  113 

superstition  acts  upon  the  mind.  Saperstitions  men  are  almost 
always  men  of  slow  faculties  and  deep  feelings  ;  their  minds  are 
not  loose,  but  adhesive  j  they  have  a  reasonable  share  of  imagina- 
tion, by  which  word  I  mean  the  faculty  which  produces  impressive 
effects  out  of  simple  elements ;  but  they  are  utterly  destitute  of 
fancy,  the  power  by  which  pleasure  and  surprise  are  excited  by 
sudden  varieties  of  situation  and  by  accumulated  imagery. 

*  It  was  my  wish  in  this  poem  to  show  the  manner  in  which 
such  men  cleave  to  the  same  ideas ;  and  to  follow  the  turns  of 
passion,  always  different,  yet  not  palpably  different,  by  which  their 
conversation  is  swayed.  I  had  two  objects  to  attain ;  first,  to 
represent  a  picture  which  should  not  be  unimpressive,  yet  con- 
sistent with  the  character  that  should  describe  it ;  secondly,  while 
I  adhered  to  the  style  in  which  such  persons  describe,  to  take  care 
that  words,  which  in  their  minds  are  impregnated  with  passion, 
should  likewise  convey  passion  to  readers  who  are  not  accustomed 
to  sympathize  with  men  feeling  in  that  manner  or  using  such  lan- 
guage. It  seemed  to  me  that  this  might  be  done  by  calling  in  the 
assistance  of  lyrical  and  rapid  metre.  It  was  necessary  that  the 
poem,  to  be  natural,  should  in  reality  move  slowly ;  yet,  I  hoped 
that,  by  the  aid  of  the  metre,  to  those  who  should  at  all  enter  into 
the  spirit  of  the  poem,  it  would  appear  to  move  quickly.  The 
reader  will  have  the  kindness  to  excuse  this  note,  as  I  am  sensible 
that  an  introductory  poem  is  necessary  to  give  this  poem  its  full 
effect. 

'Upon  this  occasion  I  will  request  permission  to  add  a  few 
words  closely  connected  with  The  Thorn  and  many  other  poems 
in  these  volumes.  There  is  a  numerous  cleiss  of  readers  who 
imagine  that  the  same  words  cannot  be  repeated  without  tauto- 
logy ;  this  is  a  great  error ;  virtual  tautology  is  much  oftener 
produced  by  using  different  words  when  the  meaning  is  exactly 
the  same.  Words,  a  Poet's  words  more  particularly,  ought  to  be 
weighed  in  the  balance  of  feeling,  and  not  measured  by  the  space 
which  they  occupy  upon  paper.  For  the  reader  cannot  be  too 
often  reminded  that  Poetry  is  passion  ;  it  is  the  history  or  science 
of  feelings  ;  now  every  man  must  know  that  an  attempt  is  rarely 
made  to  communicate  impassioned  feelings  without  something  of 
an  accompanying  consciousness  of  the  inadequateness  of  our 
powers,  or  the  deficiencies  of  language.  During  such  efforts 
there  will  be  a  craving  in  the  mind,  and  as  long  as  it  is  unsatisfied 

VOL.  I.  8 

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114  ALPOXDEN. 

the  speaker  will  ding  to  the  same  words,  or  words  of  the  same 
eharacter.  There  are  also  various  other  reasons  why  repetition 
and  apparent  tautology  are  frequently  beauties  of  the  highest 
kind.  Among  the  chief  of  these  reasons  is  the  interest  which  the 
mind  attaches  to  words,  not  only  as  symbols  of  the  passion,  but 
as  thingSf  active  and  efficient,  which  are  of  themselves  part  of  the 
passion.  And  further,  from  a  spirit  of  fondness,  exultation  and 
gratitude,  the  mind  luxuriates  in  the  repetition  of  words  which 
appear  successfully  to  communicate  its  feelings.  The  truth  of 
tliese  remarks  might  be  shown  by  innumerable  passages  from 
the  Bible,  and  from  the  impassioned  Poetry  of  every  nation  : 

'  "  Awake,  awake,  Deborah ;  awake,  awake,  utter  a  song.  Arise 
Barak,  and  lead  thy  captivity  captive,  thou  Son  of  Abinoam. 
Ai  her  feet  he  bowed,  he  fell,  he  lay  down ;  at  her  feet  he  bowed^ 
he  fell ;  where  he  bowed,  there  he  fell  down  dead.  Why  is  his 
chariot  so  long  in  coming  ?  Why  tarry  the  wheels  of  his  char- 
iot ?"— Judges,  Chap.  V.  verses  12th,  27th  and  part  of  28th. 
See  also,  the  whole  of  that  tumultuous  and  wonderful  poem.' — 
'Lyrical  Ballads,^  4th  edition.  Vol.  i.  pp.  201-4. 

See  also  the  <  Biographia  Literaria,''  Vol.  ii.  p.  62  (Edit,  of  1847), 
ftt  the  end  of  Chap,  iv.,  where  Coleridge  speaks  of  '  the  apparent 
tautologies  of  intense  and  turbulent  feeling,  in  which  the  passioa 
is  greater  and  of  longer  endurance  than  to  be  exhausted  or  satis- 
fied by  a  single  representation  of  the  image  or  incident  exciting  it. 
Such  repetitions  I  admit  to  be  a  beauty  of  the  highest  kind ;  as 
Ulustrated  by  Mr.  Wordsworth  himself  from  the  song  of  Debo- 
lah.'  —  H.  R.] 


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CHAPTER  XII. 


THE   TRAGEDY. 


In  November,  1797, '  The  Borderers'  was  completed,  and 
was  about  to  try  its  fate  upon  the  stage.  'William's 
play,'  says  Miss  Wordsworth,  20th  November,  1797, '  is 
finished,  and  sent  to  the  managers  of  theCovent  Garden 
Theatre.  We  have  not  'the  faintest  expectation  that  it 
will  be  accepted.'  On  the  21st  December  she  writes  from 
Bristol, '  We  have  been  in  London :  our  business  was  the 
play ;  and  the  play  is  rejected.  It  was  sent  to  one  of  the 
principal  actors  at  Covent  Garden,  who  expressed  great 
approbation,  and  advised  William  strongly  to  go  to  Lon* 
don  to  make  certain  alterations.'  So  to  London  they 
went  together,  brother  and  sister,  outside  the  coach. 
They  stayed  three  weeks  in  London.  '  Coleridge's  play,' 
slie  adds,  'is  also  rejected;'  and  for  this  she  expresses, 
great  sorrow  and  disappointment 

However,  this  play  of  Mr.  Coleridge  survived  to  see 
better  days.  About  twenty  years  afterwards,  it  was  again 
presented,  under  a  new  title,  to  the  Theatre ;  and  the 
same  drama  which  was  condemned  as  'Osorio'  in  1797» 
was  acted  in  1613  to  crowded  houses,  as  'The  Re- 
morse.' ^ 

Wordsworth  returned  to  Alfoxden  in  December,  1797, 
not  dismayed  by  the  rejection  of  the  play.  He  resumed 
his  poetical  labours  with  animation.     '  The  Euined  Cot- 

1  See  Preface  to  <  The  Remorse,'  2d  edit.  Lond.  1813. 

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116  THE   TBAGEOT. 

tage '  (which  now  stands  as  part  of  the  first  book  of '  The 
Excursion,')  was  then  finished,  and  the  return  of  spring 
gave  fresh  vigour  to  his  powers. 

'  It  is  the  first  mild  day  of  March/ 

Each  minute  sweeter  than  before  ; 
The  red-breast  sings  from  the  tall  larch 
That  stands  beside  our  door/ 

A  joyous  invitation  to  his  sister  to  taste  the  delights  of  the 
season  was  now  composed,  and  also  the  '  Lines  written  in 
Early  Spring.' 2 

'  I  heard  a  thousand  blended  notes, 
While  in  a  grove  I  sat  reclined, 
In  that  sweet  mood  when  pleasant  thoughts 
Bring  sad  thoughts  to  the  mind.' 

Speaking  of  these  two  poems  the  author  gave  the  follow- 
ing reminiscences.^ 

Lines  toritten  in  Early  Springs  1798. — *  Actually 
composed  while  I  was  sitting  by  the  side  of  the  brook 
that  runs  down  the  Comb,  in  which  stands  the  village 
of  Alford,  through  the  grounds  of  Alfoxden.  It  was  a 
chosen  resort  of  mine.  The  brook  fell  down  a  sloping 
rock,  so  as  to  make  a  waterfall,  considerable  for  that 
country ;  and  across  the  pool  below  had  fallen  a  tree,  an 
ash,  if  I  rightly  remember,  from  which  rose,  perpendicu- 
larly, boughs  in  search  of  the  light  intercepted  by  the 
deep  shade  above.  The  boughs  bore  leaves  of  green, 
that  for  want  of  sunshine  had  faded  into  almost  lily-white ; 
and  from  the  underside  of  this  natural  sylvan-bridge  de- 
pended long  and  beautiful  tresses  of  ivy,  which  waved 
gently  in  the  breeze,  that  might,  poetically  speaking,  be 
called  the  breath  of  the  waterfall.     This  motion  varied, 

»  Vol.  iv.  p.  184.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  182.  »  MSS.  I.  F. 

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THE   TRAGEDY,  1  IT 

of  course,  in  proportion  to  the  power  of  water  in  the  brook. 
When,  with  dear  friends,  I  revisited  this  spot,  after  an  inter- 
val of  more  than  forty  years,  this  interesting  feature  of  the 
scene  was  gone.  To  the  owner  of  the  place  I  could  not  but 
regret  that  the  beauty  of  that  retired  part  of  the  groundji 
had  not  tempted  him  to  make  it  more  accessible,  by  a 
path,  not  broad  or  obtrusive,  but  sufficient  for  persons 
who  love  such  scenes  to  creep  along  without  difficulty.' 

A  Character.  —  '  The  principal  features  are  taken  from 
that  of  my  friend,  Robert  Jones.' 

To  my  Sister.^  —  'Composed  in  front  of  Alfoxden 
House. 

*  My  little  boy-messenger  on  this  occasion  was  the  son 
of  Basil  Montagu.  The  larch  mentioned  in  the  first 
stanza  was  standing  when  I  revisited  the  place  in  May, 
1841,  more  than  forty  years  after.  I  was  disappointed 
that  it  had  not  improved  in  appearance,  as  to  size,  nor 
had  it  acquired  anything  of  the  majesty  of  age,  which, 
even  though  less  perhaps  than  any  other  tree,  the  larch 
sometimes  does.  A  few  score  yards  from  this  tree  grew, 
when  we  inhabited  Alfoxden,  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
beech  trees  ever  seen.  The  ground  sloped  both  towards 
and  from  it.  It  was  of  immense  size,  and  threw  out  arms 
that  struck  into  the  soil  like  those  of  the  banyan  tree,  and 
rose  again  from  it.  Two  of  the  branches  thus  inserted 
themselves  twice,  which  gave  to  each  the  appearance  of 
a  serpent  moving  along  by  gathering  itself  up  in  folds. 
One  of  the  large  boughs  of  this  tree  had  been  torn  off  by 
the  wind  before  we  left  Alfoxden,  but  five  remained.  In 
1841,  we  could  barely  find  the  spot  where  the  tree  had 
stood.  So  remarkable  a  production  of  nature  could  not 
have  been  wilfully  destroyed.' ^ 

>  Vol.  iv.  p.  184.  2  MSS.  I.  F. 

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118  THE    TRAGEDY. 

In  January,  1798,  Coleridge  had  been  liberated  from  a 
ministerial  engagement  with  a  Socinian  congregation  at 
Shrewsbury,  whither  he  had  gone  to  succeed  Mr.  Rowe, 
by  the  munificence  of  the  Wedgwoods,  who  settled  on 
him  an  annuity  of  1 50Z.  '  You  know,'  says  Coleridge  to 
Wordsworth,^  '  that  I  have  accepted  the  magnificent  liber- 
ality of  Josiah  and  Thomas  Wedgwood.  I  accepted  it  on 
the  presumption  that  I  had  talents,  honesty,  and  propensi- 
'ties  to  persevering  effort  ....  Of  the  pleasant  ideas 
which  accompanied  this  unexpected  event,  it  was  not  the 
least  pleasant,  that  I  should  be  able  to  trace  the  spring 
and  early  summer  of  Alfoxden  with  you^  and  that  wher- 
ever your  after  residence  may  be,  it  is  probable  that  you 
will  be  within  the  reach  of  my  tether,  lengthened  as  it 
now  is.' 

On  April  12,  1798,  Wordsworth  writes  from  Alfoxden 
to  his  friend  Cottle,  *  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I 
have  gone  on  very  rapidly  adding  to  my  stock  of  poetry. 
Do  come  and  let  me  read  it  to  you  under  the  old  trees  in 
the  park.  We  have  little  more  than  two  months  to  stay 
in  this  place.' 

In  the  following  summer  Wordsworth  and  his  sister 
made  a  short  tour  on  the  banks  of  the  Wye.  *  We  left 
Alfoxden  on  Monday  morning,  the  26th  of  June,  stayed 
with  Coleridge  till  the  Monday  following,  then  set  forth 
on  foot  towards  Bristol.  We  were  at  Cottle's  for  a  week, 
and  thence  we  went  toward  the  banks  of  the  Wye.  We 
crossed  the  Severn  Ferry,  and  walked  ten  miles  further 
to  Tintern  Abbey,  a  very  beautiful  ruin  on  the  Wye. 
The  next  morning  we  walked  along  the  river  through 
Monmouth  to  Goderich  Castle,  there  slept,  and  returned 
the  next  day  to  Tintern,  thence  to  Chepstow,  and  from 

'  Shrewsbury,  Jan.  179S. 

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THE   TRAGEDY.  119 

Chepstow  back  again  in  a  boat  to  Tintem,  where  we 
slept,  and  thence  back  in  a  small  vessel  to  Bristol. 

'  The  Wye  is  a  stately  and  majestic  river  from  its  width 
and  depth,  but  never  slow  and  sluggish ;  you  can  always 
hear  its  murmur..  It  travels  through  a  woody  country, 
now  varied  with  cottages  and  green  meadows,  and  now 
with  huge  and  fantastic  rocks.' 

The  name  of  Tintehn  will  suggest  to  the  reader  the 
lines  written  by  Wordsworth,  and  inscribed  with  its 
name. 

'  Five  years  have  passed,  five  summers,  with  the  length 
Of  five  long  winters,  and  again  I  hear 
These  waters  rolling  from  their  mountain  springs, 
With  a  soft  inland  murmur.'  * 

The  '  sensations  sweet '  due  to  the  scenery  of  the  sylvan 
Wye  will  not  fail  to  suggest  a  feeling  of  gratitude  for  the 
tranquillizing  and  cheering  influence  of  Nature  upon  the 
mind  ;  and  the  sketch  which  the  Poet  draws  of  his  earlier 
days  and  youthful  emotions,  the  courageous  spirit  of  inde- 
pendence which  breathes  in  that  poem,  the  tender  address 
which  he  makes  to  his  '  dear,  dear  sister,'  and  the  hopes 
and  desires  he  expresses  for  her  sake,  will  not  fail  to  be 
perused  with  sober  pleasure  and  pathetic  interest.  And 
if,  as  perhaps  will  be  the  case,  the  reflecting  reader  should 
be  disposed  to  think  that  too  much  reliance  is  there 
expressed  on  the  powers  of  man's  will,  leaning  on  the  aid 
of  Nature  alone,  and  independent  of  those  supernatural 
means  which  are  provided  by  a  gracious  Providence  for 
the  purification  of  the  corruptions,  and  for  a  support  to  the 
infirmities,  of  humanity;  if  he  should  be  persuaded  by 
sound  reason,  or  convinced  from  personal  experience,  that 
the  influences  of  Nature  and  Nature's  works,  however 

»Vol.ii.  p.  150. 

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120  THE   TRAGEDY. 

effectual  and  salutary  when  regarded  as  creations  of  divine 
power,  and  emanations  from  the  pure  source  of  divine 
love,  are  not  sufficient  to  cheer  the  languid  soul  in  the 
hours  of  sickness  and  of  sorrow ;  if  also,  as  is  not  improb- 
able, he  should  be  of  opinion,  that  a  'worshipper  of 
nature '  is  in  danger  of  divinizing  the  creation  and  of  dis- 
honouring the  Creator,  and  that,  therefore,  some  portions 
of  this  poem  might  be  perverted  to  serve  the  purposes  of 
a  popular  and  pantheistic  philosophy,  he  will  remember 
that  the  author  of  the  Lines  on  Tintebn  Abbey,  com- 
posed also  the  Evening  Voluntaeies,  and  that  he  who 
professes  himself  an  ardent  votary  of  nature,  has  ex- 
plained the  sense  in  which  he  wishes  these  words  to  be 
understood,  by  saying,  that 

'  By  grace  divine, 
Not  otherwise,  O  Nature,  we  are  thine.'  *  * 

Concerning  the  production  of  this  poem,  the  writer  him- 
self gave  the  following  information :  *  — 

Tintern  Abbey ^  July,  1798.  — '  No  poem  of  mine  was 
composed  under  circumstances  more  pleasant  for  me  to 
remember  than  this.  I  began  it  upon  leaving  Tintern, 
after  crossing  the  Wye,  and  concluded  it  just  as  I  was 
entering  Bristol  in  the  evening,  after  a  ramble  of  four  or 
five  days  with  my  sister.  Not  a  line  of  it  was  altered, 
and  not  any  part  of  it  written  down  till  I  reached  Bris- 
tol.    It  was  published  almost  immediately  after  in  the 

»  Vol.  iv.  p.  127.  «MSS.  I.  F. 

*  [See  also  a  fine  comment  on  this  passage,  by  Aubrey  Dc  Vere 
in  a  thoughtful  and  eloquent  article  on  Modem  Poetry,  in  the 
Edinburgh  Review,  Vol.  89,  p.  359,  April  1849.  — h.  r.] 

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THE  TRAGEDY.  131 

little  volume  of  which  so  much  has  been  said  in  these 
notes.*  • 

About  the  same  time  a  longer  poem  was  written,  but 
not  published  till  many  years  afterwards.  This  was  Peter 
Bell.  *  This  tale,'  says  the  author,^  '  was  founded  upon 
an  anecdote  which  I  read  in  a  newspaper,  of  bh  ass  being 
found  hanging  his  head  over  a  canal  in  a  wretched  pos- 
ture. Upon  examination  a  dead  body  was  found  in  the 
water,  and  proved  to  be  the  body  of  its  master.  In  the 
woods  of  Alfoxden  I  used  to  take  great  delight  in  noticing 
the  habits,  tricks,  and  physiognomy  of  asses ;  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  I  was  thus  put  upon  writing  the  poem  of 
*'  Peter  Bell,"  out  of  liking  for  the  creature  that  is  so  oAen 
dreadfully  abused.  The  countenance,  gait,  and  figure  of 
Peter  were  taken  from  a  wild  rover  with  whom  I  walked 
from  Builth,  on  the  river  Wye,  downwards,  nearly  as  far 
as  the  town  of  Hay.  He  told  me  strange  stories.  It  has 
always  been  a  pleasure  to  me,  through  life,  to  catqh  at 
every  opportunity  that  has  occurred  in  my  rambles  of 
becoming  acquainted  with  this  class  of  people.  The 
number  of  Peter's  wives  was  taken  from  the  trespasses,  ui 
this  way,  of  a  lawless  creature  who  lived  in  the  county  of 
Durham,  and  used  to  be  attended  by  many  women,  some- 
times not  less  than  half  a  dozen,  as  disorderly  as  himself; 
and  a  story  went  in  the  country,  that  he  had  been  heard 

'  The  '  Lyrical  Ballads,'  as  first  published  at  Bristol  by  Cottle. 
3  MSS.  I.  F. 

*  [The  following  note  was  added  to  this  poem  in  the  later 
editions  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads.' 

*  I  have  not  ventured  to  call  this  poem  an  ode ;  but  it  was 
written  with  a  hope  thai  in  the  transitions,  and  the  impassioned 
music  of  the  versification,  would  be  found  the  principal  requisites 
of  thai  species  of  composition.'    L.  B.  4ih  edit.  p.  204.  —  h.  b.] 

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122  THE  TBAGEDT. 

to  say  while  they  were  quarrelling,  "  Why  can't  you  be 
quiet,  there's  none  so  many  of  you."  Benoni,  or  the 
child  of  sorrow,  I  knew  when  I  was  a  schoolboy.  His 
mother  had  been  deserted  by  a  gentleman  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood, she  herself  being  a  gentlewoman  by  birth. 
The  circumstances  of  her  story  were  told  me  by  my  dear 
old  dame,  Ann  Tyson,  who  was  her  confidante.  The  lady 
died  broken-hearted.  The  crescent  moon,  which  makes 
such  a  figure  in  the  prologue,  assumed  this  character  one 
evening  while  I  was  watching  its  beauty  in  front  of  Alfox- 
den  House.  I  intended  this  poem  for  the  volume  before 
spoken  of,  but  it  was  not  published  for  more  than  twenty 
years  afterwards.  The  worship  of  the  Methodists,  or 
Ranters,  is  often  heard  during  the  stillness  of  the  summer 
evening,  in  the  country,  with  affecting  accompaniments  of 
rural  beauty.  In  both  the  psalmody  and  the  voice  of  the 
preacher  there  is,  not  unfrequently,  much  solemnity  likely 
to  impress  the  feelings  of  the  rudest  characters  under 
favourable  circumstances.' 

After  the  Wye  tour,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  took  up 
their  abode  at  Bristol,  in  order  that  he  might  be  nearer  the 
printer.  '  William's  poems,'  she  says,  July  18th,  1798, 
'  are  now  in  the  press ;  they  will  be  out  in  six  weeks ; ' 
and  on  September  the  13th  they  are  described  as  '  printed, 
but  not  published.'  They  are  '  in  one  small  volume, 
without  the  name  of  the  author ;  their  title  is  "  Lyrical 
Ballads,  with  other  poems."  Cottle  has  given  thirty 
guineas  for  William's  share  of  the  volume ; '  that  is,  for 
the  copyright. 

On  August  27  they  had  arrived  in  London,  having 
passed  Oxford  and  Blenheim. 

In  a  few  days  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads  '  appeared  ;  and 
on  the  16th  September,  Wordsworth,  his  sister,  and  Mr. 
Coleridge,  left  Yarmouth  for  Hamburgh. 

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CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE    LYRICAL    BALLADS. 

The  '  Lyrical  Ballads  '  were  published  in  the  autumn 
of  1798,  in  one  small  volume  of  210  pages,  by  Mr.  Cot- 
tle, at  Bristol.  1     This  duodecimo  contains  twenty-three 

'  Its  contents  are  as  follows :  — 

Page 

The  Rime  of  the  Ancyent  Marinere      -        -        -        -  1 

The  Foster  Mother's  Tale               53 

Lines  left  upon  a  Seat  in  a  Yew-tree  which  stands  near 

the  Lake  of  Esthwaite                59 

The  Nightingale ;  a  conversational  Poem              -        -  63 

The  Female  Vagrant              69 

Goody  Blake  and  Harry  Gill 85 

Lines  written  at  a  small  Distance  from  my  House,  and 

sent  by  my  little  Boy  to  the  Person  to  whom  they  are 

addressed            .        -        -• 95 

Simon  Lee,  the  old  Huntsman               .        .        .        -  98 

Anecdote  for  Fathers              ..-.--  105 

We  are  Seven 110 

Lines  written  in  early  Spring 115 

The  Thorn              -               - 117 

The  Last  of  the  Flock 133 

The  Dungeon        - 139 

The  Mad  Mother 141 

The  Idiot  Boy 149 

Lines  written  near  Richmond  upon  the  Thames,  at 

Evening             180 

Expostulation  and  Reply       ------  183 

The  Tables  turned ;  an  Evening  Scene  on  the  same 

Subject               - 186 


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124  THE   LYRICAL   BALLADS.  * 

poems,  of  which  the  first  in  order  is  '  The  Ancient  Mar- 
iner,' by  Coleridge ;  and  the  last,  the  '  Lines  written  a 
few  Miles  above  Tintem  Abbey.* 

The  edition  consisted  of  500  copies ;  but  as  the  pub- 
lisher informs  us  '  the  sale  was  so  slow,  and  the  severity 
of  most  of  the  reviews  so  great,  that  its  progress  to  ob- 
livion seemed  to  be  certain.  I  parted  with  the  largest 
proportion  of  the  500,  at  a  loss,  to  Mr.  Arch,  a  London 
bookseller.'  ^ 

Shortly  after  its  publication,  Mr.  Cottle  quitted  business 
and  transferred  his  copyrights  to  Messrs.  Longman.  Among 
these  was  the  copyright  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads.'  It  ap- 
peared that  in  the  calculation  of  the  copyrights  this  was 
valued  at  nil,  Mr.  Cottle  therefore  begged  it  might  be 
returned,  which  it  was,  and  he  presented  it  to  the  authors. 

It  is  not  the  purport  of  these  pages  to  offer  critical  dis- 
quisitions on  the  literary  merits  of  these  or  other  pro- 
ductions of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  pen.  They  have  now,  for 
the  most  part,  been  long  before  the  world,  and  have 
formed  the  subject  of  elaborate  essays  by  grave  and  phi- 
losophic writers ;  ^  and  it  may  be  almost  said,  that  we 
now  hear  the  verdict  of  posterity  upon  them. 

I  will  only  offer  a  few  passing  remarks  on  this  volume, 
the  '  Lyrical  Ballads.' 

Among  the  main  causes  which  retarded  its  success  was 
the  simple  and  humble   nature  of  the  subjects,  and,  in 

Old  Man  travelling 189 

The  Ck)mplaint  of  a  forsaken  Indian  Woman         -        -  193 

The  Convict  197 

Lines  written  a  few  Miles  above  Tintem  Abbey    -        -  201 

*  Cottle's  Reminiscences,  vol  ii.  p.  20. 

8  See  particularly  Coleridge's  Biogr.  Liter.,  vol.  i.  p.  2,  65  -  79  j 
vol.  ii.  p.  1-5,  42-50,  114-170,  181,  edition  1847,  Pickering. 
The  following   extracts  from  Coleridge's   Biographia    Literaria 

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THE   LYRICAL   BiXLADS.  125 

some  few  instances,  the  homely  style  with  which  they 
were  treated.     Doubtless  the  popular  taste  was  then  in  an 

(London,  1847,  vol.  ii.  p.  1)  will  be  read  with  interest,  and  find  an 
appropriate  place  here :  — 

'  During  the  first  year  that  Mr.  Wordsworth  and  I  were  neigh- 
bours, *  our  conversations  turned  frequently  on  the  two  cardinal 
points  of  poetry,  the  power  of  exciting  the  sympathy  of  the 
reader  by  a  faithful  adherence  to  the  truth  of  nature,  and  the 
power  of  giving  the  interest  of  novelty  by  the  modifying  colours 
of  imagination.  The  sudden  charm  which  accidents  of  light  and 
shade,  which  moonlight  or  sunset  difiused  over  a  known  and 
familiar  landscape,  appeared  to  represent  the  practicability  of  com- 
bining both.  These  are  the  poetry  of  nature.  The  thought  sug- 
gested itself  (to  which  of  us  I  do  not  recollect)  that  a  series  of 
poems  might  be  composed  of  two  sorts.  In  the  one  the  incidents 
and  agents  were  to  be,  in  part  at  least,  supernatural ;  and  the 
excellence  aimed  at  was  to  consist  in  the  interesting  of  the  afiections 
by  the  dramatic  truth  of  such  emotions  as  would  naturally  accom- 
pany such  situations,  supposing  them  real.  And  real,  in  this 
sense,  they  have  been  to  every  human  being  who,  from  whatever 
source  of  delusion,  has  at  any  time  believed  himself  under  super- 
natural agency.  For  the  second  class,  subjects  were  to  be  chosen 
from  ordinary  life :  the  characters  and  incidents  were  to  be  such  as 
will  be  found  in  every  village  and  its  vicinity,  where  there  is  a 
meditative  and  feeling  mind  to  seek  after  them,  or  to  notice  them 
when  they  present  themselves. 

*  In  this  idea  originated  the  plan  of  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads  ; "  in 
which  it  was  agreed  that  my  endeavours  should  be  directed  to  per- 
sons and  characters  supernatural,  or  at  least  romantic ;  yet  so  as 
to  transfer  from  our  inward  nature  a  human  interest  and  a  sem- 
blance of  truth  sufficient  to  procure  for  these  shadows  of  imagina- 
tion that  willing  suspension  of  disbelief  for  the  moment,  which 
constitutes  poetic  faith.  Mr.  Wordsworth,  on  the  other  hand,  was 
to  propose  to  himself  as  his  object,  to  give  the  charm  of  novelty  to 
things  of  every  day,  and  to  excite  a  feeling  analogous  to  the 

*In  1797-8,  whilst  Mr.  Coleridge  resided  at  Nether- Stowey, 
and  Mr.  Wordsworth  at  Alfoxden.  —  Ed. 


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126  XHE   LTSICAIi   BALLADS. 

unhealthy  and  vicious  state.  It  had  been  corrupted  by  aa^ 
artificial  literature,  tricked  out  in  gaudy  finery,  and  speak* 
ing  in  unnatural  language.     The  world  was  dazzled  by 

supernaturali  by  awakening  the  mind's  attention  to  the  lethargy  of 
custom,  and  directing  it  to  the  loveliness  and  the  wonders  of  the 
world  before  us  j  an  inexhaustible  treasure,  but  for  which,  in  con- 
Hequence  of  the  film  of  familiarity  and  selfish  solicitude,  we  have 
eyes,  yet  see  not,  ears  that  hear  not,  and  hearts  that  neither  feel 
nor  understand. 

*  With  this  view  I  wrote  "  The  Ancient  Marines/'  and  was 
preparing,  among  other  poems,  "The  Dark  Ladtb,"  and  the 
"  Christ  ABEL,"  in  which  I  should  have  more  nearly  realized  my 
ideal  than  I  had  done  in  my  first  attempt.  But  Mr.  Wordsworth's 
industry  had  proved  so  much  more  successful,  and  the  number  of 
his  poems  so  much  greater,  that  my  compositions,  instead  of  form- 
ing a  balance,  appeared  rather  an  interpolation  of  heterogeneous 
matter.  Mr.  Wordsworth  added  two  or  three  poems  written  in  his 
own  character,  in  the  impassioned,  lofly,  and  sustained  diction, 
which  is  characteristic  of  his  genius.  In  this  form  the  "  Lyricai. 
Balulds  "  were  published ;  and  were  presented  by  him  as  an  ex- 
periment, whether  subjects,  which  from  their  nature  rejected  the 
usual  ornaments  and  extra-colloquial  style  of  poems  in  general, 
might  not  be  so  managed  in  the  language  of  ordinary  life  as  to 
produce  the  pleasurable  interest  which  it  is  the  peculiar  business 
of  poetry  to  impart.  To  the  second  edition  he  added  a  preface  of 
considerable  length ;  in  which,  notwithstanding  some  passages  of 
apparently  a  contrary  import,  he  was  understood  to  contend  for  the 
extension  of  this  style  of  poetry  of  all  kinds,  and  to  reject  as 
vicious  and  indefensible  all  phrases  and  forms  of  speech  that  were 
not  included  in  what  he  (unfortunately,  I  think,  adopting  an 
equivocal  expression)  called  the  language  of  real  life.  From  this 
preface,  prefixed  to  poems  in  which  it  was  impossible  to  deny  the 
presence  of  original  genius,  however  mistaken  its  direction  might 
be  deemed,  arose  the  whole  long-continued  controversy.  For 
from  the  conjunction  of  perceived  power  with  supposed  heresy  I 
explain  the  inveteracy,  and,  in  some  instances,  I  grieve  to  say,  the 
acrimonious  passions,  with  which  the  controversy  has  been  con- 
ducted by  the  assailants.' 


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THE  LTSICAL   BALLiLDt*  127 

linsel  imagery,  and  deluded  by  a  pompous  phraseology. 
It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  the  public  in  general  would 
listen  with  patience,  or  with  any  other  feelings  than  of 
derision  and  disdain,  to  the  artless  accents  of  the  ^  Lyrical 
Ballads.' 

Besides,  the  author  was  not  disposed  to  make  due  allow- 
ance for  the  training  and  temper  of  the  popular  mind  :  his 
own  temperament  and  opinions  were,  perhaps,  at  that 
time,  such  as  in  some  degree  to  warp  his  better  judgment. 
The  clue  to  his  poetical  theory,  in  some  of  its  question- 
able details,  may  be  found  in  his  political  principles; 
these  had  been  democratical,  and  still,  though  in  some 
degree  modified,  they  were  of  a  republican  character. 
At  this  period  he  entertained  little  reverence  for  ancient 
institutions,  as  such ;  and  he  felt  little  sympathy  with  the 
higher  classes  of  society.  He  was  deeply  impressed 
with  a  sense  of  the  true  dignity  of  the  lower  orders,  and 
their  sufferings ;  and  his  design  was  to  endeavour  to  re- 
cover for  them  the  rights  of  the  human  family,  and  the 
franchises  of  universal  brotherhood,  of  which,  he  appears 
to  have  thought,  they  had  been  robbed  by  the  wealthy, 
the  noble,  and  the  few.  He  desired  to  impart  moral 
grandeur  to  poverty,  and  to  invest  the  objects  of  irrational 
and  inanimate  nature  with  a  beauty  and  grace,  of  which, 
it  seemed  to  him  they  had  been  stripped  by  a  heartless, 
and  false  taste,  pretending  to  the  title  of  delicacy  and 
refinement. 

Doubtless,  there  was  much  that  was  noble  and  true  in 
this  theory,  and  much  was  laudable  in  the  design ;  but 
it  did  not  contain  the  whole  truth,  and  was  liable  to  abuse. 

Society  is  a  complex  system.  Harmony  is  its  genuine 
voice  ;  and  that  harmony  cannot  be  maintained  without  a 
due  adjustment  of  its  various  parts.  It  is  not  by  exalting 
one  element  to  the  prejudice  of  another,  but  by  preserving 

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128  THE   LYBICiX   BALLADS. 

the  symmetry  and  proportion  of  the  whole  in  a  graduated 
scale  of  order,  that  the  true  dignity  and  welfare  of  each 
part,  and  of  the  whole  framework  of  society  as  composed 
of  parts,  and  as  depending  for  its  soundness  on  the  health 
of  the  parts,  can  be  promoted ;  whereas,  by  an  undue 
depression  of  one  part,  the  whole  is  deranged.  Perhaps, 
when  he  composed  some  of  these  earlier  poems,  the  au- 
thor did  not  fully  realize  the  force  of  these  principles, 
which  are  taught  with  so  much  power  in  his  later  works. 

In  some  of  these  poems,  also,  he  seemed  to  take  a 
pleasure  in  running  counter  to  conventional  usages,  and  in 
defying  received  opinions,  simply  because  they  were  re- 
ceived, and  even  when  it  was  not  easily  to  be  proved  that 
those  usages  and  opinions  were  erroneous.  He  would 
have  made  Poetry  perform  certain  functions  which  she 
had  never  before  consented  to  discharge.  Such  verses, 
for  instance,  as. 


*  A  little  child,  dear  brother  Jem ; ' 


agam. 


*  And  to  the  left  three  yards  beyond, 
You  see  a  little  muddy  pond 

Of  water,  never  dry ; 
I^ve  measured  it  from  side  to  side, 
^Tis  three  feet  long,  and  two  feet  wide;  * 

and  again, 

'  A  cruel,  cruel  fire,  they  say, 
Into  her  bones  was  sent ; 
It  dried  her  body  like  a  cinder, 
And  almost  turned  her  bones  to  tinder ;  * 

seemed  like  wanton  affronts  to  the  judgment  of  the  world, 
and  might  be  resented  by  many  as  indicating  a  temper 

*  Vol.  i.  p.  158.  The  line,  it  is  true,  was  Coleridge's,  (see  above, 
p.  109,)  but  was  adopted,  though  not  without  some  remonstrance, 
by  Wordsworth. 


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THE  LYBICAL  BALLADS.  129 

\7hich  would  hurl  defiance  against  public  opinion  with 
wayward   wilfulness,  petulant  pride,  and  random   reck 
lessness.^ 

It  may,  I  think,  be  asserted  that  the  judgment  here  pro- 
nounced expresses  the  sentiment  of  his  own  maturer 
years.  He  would  not  have  written  such  lines  as  these  in 
his  later  days.  Indeed,  they,  and  some  of  a  like  kind 
which  appear  in  the  first  three  impressions  of  the  '  Lyrical 
Ballads,^  are  not  found  in  succeeding  editions;^  and, 
upon  the  whole,  it  may  now  be  affirmed,  that  among  all 
the  poets  of  England,  none  has  surpassed  him  in  elabo- 
rate workmanship,  both  in  the  form  and  expression  of  his 
thoughts. 

*  Even  in  the  edition  of  1807,*  the  '  Blind  Highland  Boy »  is 
represented  as  follows : 

*A  household  tub,  like  one  of  those 
Which  women  used  to  wash  their  dothes. 
This  carried  the  Blind  Boy  J 

These  lines  have  now  disappeared;  and  the  'Highland  Boy' 
sets  sail  in  a  very  different  vessel. f 

It  is  remarkable  that  some  critics,  entertaining  democratical 
opinions,  should  have  been  among  the  bitterest  censors  of  these 
and  similar  passages :  it  would  seem  as  if,  in  pronouncing  judg- 
ment on  Poetry,  they  forgot  or  abandoned  the  tenets  of  their 
political  creed. 

«  See  the  valuable  remarks  on  this  subject  which  will  be  found 
in  Mr.  Coleridge's  Biog.  Lit.,  vol.  ii.  p.  129  - 185,  with  additional 
observations  from  the  last  editor.  | 

*  Vol.  ii.  pp.  72,  73.  fVol.  iii.  p.  35. 

X  [The  editor  here  referred  to  is  the  daughter  of  Coleridge,  and 
widow  of  Henry  Nelson  Coleridge :  the  genius  and  learning,  mod- 
estly apparent  in  her  editorial  notes,  will,  apart  from  her  other 
productions,  secure  her  a  high  reputation.  —  h.  b.] 

VOL.  I.  9 


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CHAPTER  XIV. 


RESIDENCE   IN   GERMANY. 


•  On  Tuesday  morning,  Sept.  18,  1798,  about  two  o'clock, 
we  were  informed  that  we  were  in  sight  of  land,'  says 
Miss  Wordsworth, '  and  before  ten  we  were  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Elbe.  We  landed  at  Hamburgh  at  four  in  the 
afternoon.'  ^  Wordsworth  acted  as  the  interpreter  of  the 
party,  for  Coleridge  '  could  then  only  speak  English  and 
Latin,'  ^  but  Wordsworth,  though  not  able  to  speak  Ger- 
'man,  conversed  fluently  in  French. 

On  Wednesday,  Sept  26,  '  we  dined  with  Mr.  Klop- 
stock,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  his  brother,  the 
Poet,  a  venerable  old  man  retaining  the  liveliness  of 
youth.  He  sustained  an  animated  conversation  with  Wil- 
liam the  whole  afternoon.'  Wordsworth  made  notes  of 
his  conversations  with  Klopstock,  which  were  for  the 
most  part  on  poetical  topics.  These  notes  have  been 
given  to  the  world  by  Mr.  Coleridge,  in  '  The  Friend,'  3 
and  they  are  also  reprinted  in  the  last  edition  of  his 
Biographia  Literaria ;  ^  I  will  not  therefore  reproduce 
them  here.  There  are,  however,  certain  characteristic 
sentiments  expressed  by  Wordsworth,  which   ought  to 

>  Letter  dated  Hamburg,  Friday,  Sept.  21, 1798. 

3  See  his  Letter  to  Wade  in  Cottle's  Reminiscences,  vol.  11.  p.  20. 


3  Satyrane's  Letters,  Letter  iii. 
*Vol.ii.  p.  232-249. 


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I^SIDENCE   IN.  GERMANY.  131 

find  a  place  in  these  Memoirs ;  let  me  therefore  insert 
them.^ 

'  Klopstock  spoke  very  slightingly  of  Kotzebue,  as  an 
immoral  author  in  the  first  place,  and  next,  as  deficient 
in  power.  "  At  Vienna,"  said  he,  "  they  are  transported 
with  him;  but  we  do  not  reckon  the  people  of  Vienna 
either  the  wisest  or  the  wittiest  people  of  Germany."  He 
aaid  Wieland  was  a  charming  author,  and  a  sovereign 
master  of  his  own  language ;  that  in  this  respect  Groethe 
could  not  be  compared  to  him,  nor  indeed  could  anybody 
else.  He  said  that  his  fault  was  to  be  fertile  to  exube- 
rance. I  told  him  the  "  Oberon  "  had  just  been  translated 
into  English.  He  asked  me  if  I  was  not  delighted  with 
the  poem.  I  answered,  that  I  thought  the  story  began  to 
flag  about  the  seventh  or  eighth  book ;  and  observed,  that 
it  was  unworthy  of  a  man  of  genius  to  make  the  interest 
of  a  long  poem  turn  entirely  upon  animal  gratification. 
He  seemed  at  first  disposed  to  excuse  this  by  saying  that 
there  are  different  subjects  for  poetry,  and  that  poets  are 
not  willing  to  be  restricted  in  their  choice.  I  answered 
that  I  thought  the  passion  of  love  as  well  suited  to  the 
purposes  of  poetry  as  any  other  passion  ;  but  that  it  was 
a  cheap  way  of  pleasing  to  fix  the  attention  of  the  reader 
through  a  long  poem  on  the  pure  appetite.  "  Well !  but," 
said  he,  "you  see  that  such  poems  please  everybody." 
I  answered,  that  it  was  the  province  of  a  great  poet  to 
raise  people  up  to  his  own  level,  not  to  descend  to  theirs. 
He  agreed,  and  confessed,  that  on  no  account  whatsoever 
would  he  have  written  a  work  like  the  "  Oberon."  .  . 
.  .  .  .  An  Englishman  had  presented  him  with  the 
Odes  of  Collins,  which  he  had  read  with  pleasure.     He 

'  Biographia  Literaria,  S.  T.  Coleridge,  vol.  ii.  p.  246,  Satyrane's 
Letters. 

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132  RESIDENCE   IN   GERMANY. 

knew  little  or  nothing  of  Gray,  except  his  "  Elegy,  writ- 
ten in  a  country  Church-yard."  He  complained  of  the 
Fool  in  "  Lear."  I  observed  that  he  seemed  to  give  a 
terrible  wildness  to  the  distress  ;  *  but  still  he  complained. 
He  asked  whether  it  was  not  allowed  that  Pope  had  writ- 
ten rhymed  poetry  with  more  skill  than  any  of  our  writers. 
I  said  I  preferred  Dryden,  because  his  couplets  had  great- 
er variety  in  their  movement.  He  thought  my  reason  a 
good  one ;  but  asked  whether  the  rhyme  of  Pope  were 
not  more  exact.  This  quest  on  I  understood  as  applying 
to  the  final  terminations,  and  observed  to  him  that  I 
believed  it  was  the  case  ;  but  that  I  thought  it  was  easy 
to  excuse  some  inaccuracy  in  the  final  sounds,  if  the 
general  sweep  of  the  verse  was  superior.  I  told  him  that 
we  were  not  so  exact  with  regard  to  the  final  endings  of 
lines  as  the  French. 

'  He  seemed  to  think  that  no  language  could  be  so  far 
formed  as  that  it  might  not  be  enriched  by  idioms  bor- 
rowed from  another  tongue.  I  said  this  was  a  very  dan- 
gerous practice;  and  added,  that  I  thought  Milton  had 
often  injured  both  his  prose  and  verse  by  taking  this 
liberty  too  frequently.  I  recommended  to  him  the  prose 
works  of  Dryden  as  models  of  pure  and  native  English. 
I  was  treading  vpon  tender  ground,  as  I  have  reason  to 
suppose  that  he  has  himself  liberally  indulged  in  the  prac- 
tice.    .... 

*'  I  asked  what  he  thought  of  Kant.  He  said  that  his 
reputation  was  much  on  the  decline  in  Germany;  that 

*  [This  one  remscrk  is  enough  to  show  that  Wordsworth  mast 
have  anticipated  in  thought  much  of  the  philosophical  criticism 
on  Shakspeare  which  has  since  appeared  in  the  present  century  : 
the  character  of  the  Fool  was,  it  may  be  remembered,  at  that  time 
excluded  from  the  theatrical  representation  of  the  tragedy. — 

H.  K.] 

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RESIDENCE  IN   GERMANY.  1^ 

for  his  own  part  he  was  not  surprised  to  find  it  so,  as  the 
works  of  Kant  were  to  him  utterly  incomprehensible  ; 
that  he  had  often  been  pestered  by  the  Kanteans,  but  was 
rarely  in  the  practice  of  arguing  with  them.  His  custom 
was  to  produce  the  book,  open  it,  and  point  to  a  passage, 
and  beg  they  would  explain  it.  This  they  ordinarily  at- 
tempted to  do  by  substituting  their  own  ideas.  "  I  do  not 
want,  I  say,  an  explanation  of  your  own  ideas,  but  of  th^ 
passage  which  is  before  us.  In  this  way  I  generally  bring 
the  dispute  to  an  immediate  conclusion."  He  spoke  of 
Wolfe  as  the  first  metaphysician  they  had  in  Germany. 
Wolfe  had  followers,  but  they  could  hardly  be  called  a 
sect;  and,  luckily,  till  the  appearance  of  Kant,  about 
fifteen  years  ago,  Germany  had  not  been  pestered  by  any 
sect  of  philosophers  whatsoever,  but  each  man  had  sepa- 
rately pursued  his  inquiries  uncontrolled  by  the  dogmas  of 
a  master.  Kant  had  appeared  ambitious  to  be  the  founder 
of  a  sect ;  he  had  succeeded ;  but  the  Germans  were  now 
coming  to  their  senses  again.  He  said  that  Nicolai  and 
Engel  had,  in  different  ways,  contributed  to  disenchant  the 
nation ;  but  above  all,  the  incomprehensibility  of  the  phi- 
losopher and  his  philosophy.  He  seemed  pleased  to  hear 
that,  as  yet,  Kant's  doctrines  had  not  met  with  many 
admirers  in  England ;  he  did  not  doubt  but  that  we  had 
too  much  wisdom  to  be  duped  by  a  writer  who  set  at 
defiance  the  common  sense  and  common  understandings 
of  men.  We  talked  of  tragedy.  He  seemed  to  rate 
highly  the  power  of  exciting  tears.  I  said  that  nothing 
was  more  easy  than  to  deluge  an  audience ;  that  it  was 
done  every  day  by  the  meanest  writers.' 

Coleridge  parted  from  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  at 
Hamburg,  and  went  to  Ratzeburg,  thirty-five  miles  N.  E. 
from  Hamburg,  on  the  road  to  Lubeck  ;  and  at  Ratzeburg 

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194  SEStDENCE   IN   GERMAKt. 

he  lived  four  months.^     Thence  he  went  to  Gottingen, 
where  he  spent  five  months. 

But  to  return  to  Wordsworth.  His  sister  thus  writes : 
*  We  quitted  Hamburg  on  Wednesday  evening,  at  fiv6 
o'clock,  reached  Luneburg  to  breakfast  on  Thursday,  and 
arrived  at  Brunswick  between  three  and  four  o'clock  on 
Friday  evening.  .  .  .  There  we  dined.  It  is  an  old, 
silent,  duli-looking  place  ;  the  duke's  palax^e,  a  lai^e  white 
building,  with  no  elegance  in  its  external  appearance. 
The  next  morning  we  set  off  at  eight  You  can  have  no 
idea  of  the  badness  of  the  roads.  The  diligence  arrived 
at  eight  at  night  at  the  city  of  Goslar,  on  Saturday,  Oct 
6,  the  distance  being  only  twenty-five  miles.' 

Wordsworth  and  his  sister  took  up  their  abode  at  Goslar, 
with  a  view  of  entering  into  German  society,  and  of  learn- 
ing the  German  language.  But  in  this  they  were  some- 
what disappointed.  They  did  not  form  acquaintances 
easily :  the  place  was  not  very  hospitable  to  strangers ; 
and,  as  Coleridge  told  him,  he  had  two  impediments  in  his 
way  toward  the  attainment  of  his  end.  '  You  have  two 
things  against  you  :  your  not  loving  smoke  ;  and  your  sis- 
ter. If  the  manners  at  Goslar  resemble  those  at  Ratze- 
burg,  it  is  almost  necessary  to  be  able  to  bear  smoke. 
Can  Dorothy  endure  smoke }  Here,  when  my  friends 
come  to  see  me,  the  candle  nearly  goes  out,  the  air  is  so 
thick.' 

*  Coleridge,'  says  Miss  W.,  '  is  very  happily  situated  at 
Ratzeburg  for  learning  the  language.'  '  We  are  not  for- 
tunately situated  here  with  respect  to  the  attainment  of  our 
main  object,  a  knowledge  of  the  language.  We  have, 
indeed,  gonq  on  improving  in  that  respect,  but  not  so  expe- 

*  See  Biog.  Liter,  vol.  ii.  p.  204.  Cottle's  Reminiscences,  vol.  ii. 
p.  20. 

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KBSIOENCE   IN   GERMANY.  135 

ditiously  as  we  might  have  done  :  for  there  is  no  society  at 
Goslar,  it  is  a  lifeless  town ;  and  it  seems  that  here  in  Ger- 
many a  man  travelling  alone  may  do  very  well,  but,  if  his 
sister  or  wife  goes  with  him,  he  must  give  entertainments. 
So  we  content  ourselves  with  talking  to  the  people  of  the 
house,  &;c.,  and  reading  German.' 

However,  the  place  was  an  interesting  one  in  some  other 
respects.  It  is  situated  at  the  foot  of  a  cluster  of  moun- 
tains, which  make  part  of  a  very  extensive  forest,  the 
Hartz  forest.  These  mountains  are  chiefly  covered  with 
pine,  oaks,  and  beech.  '  We  have  plenty  of  dry  walks ; 
but  Goslar  is  very  cold  in  winter.'  And  a  most  severe 
winter  they  had  —  the  winter  of  1798-9,  the  severest  in 
the  century. 

In  other  respects,  it  would  appear,  Goslar,  with  its  soli- 
tude and  leisure,  possessed  advantages,  of  which  the  Poet 
knew  how  to  avail  himself. 

'  William,'  says  his  sister,  '  is  very  industrious :  his 
mind  is  always  active ;  indeed,  too  much  so ;  he  over- 
wearies himself,  and  suffers  from  pain  and  weakness  in 
the  side.' 

His  mind  recurred  to  his  native  land,  and  to  the  scenes 
of  his  early  youth : 

'  I  travelled  among  unknown  men, 
In.  lands  beyond  the  sea. 
Nor,  England,  did  I  know  till  then. 
What  love  I  bore  to  thee.'  * 

And  the  scenery  of  the  Dove  returned  to  his  mind : 

'  She  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways 
Beneath  the  springs  of  Dove.'  > 

» Vol.  i.  p.  214.  »  Vol.  i.  p.  215. 

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186  SESIDENCE   IN  GBRBCANT. 

These  poems,  and  their  companions,  Strange  Jits  of 
Passion  have  I  known ^^  and  Three  Years  she  grew  in  Sun 
and  Shower?  and  A  Slumber  did  my  Spirit  seal?  were 
written  at  this  time.  Here  also  he  composed  the  lines  To 
a  Sexton?  The  Danish  Boy?  intended  as  a  Prelude  to  a 
Ballad  never  written.  Here  also  was  written  A  PoeVs 
Epitaph^  Art  thou  a  Statist 7  ^ 

'  He  is  retired  as  noontide  dew^ 
Or  fountain  in  a  noonday  grove  j 
And  you  must  love  him,  ere  to  you 
He  will  seem  worthy  of  your  love ; ' 

words  which  some  of  his  most  intimate  friends  have  ap- 
plied to  the  author  himself.* 

Here  also  were  written  some  other  poems,  concerning 
which  the  author  gave  the  following  information.''' 

Lucy  Gray,^  — '  Written  at  Goslar,  in  Germany,  in 
1799.  It  was  founded  on  a  circumstance  told  me  hy  my 
sister,  of  a  little  girl  who,  not  far  from  Halifax,  in  York- 
shire, was  bewildered  in  a  snow-storm.  Her  footsteps  were 
tracked  by  her  parents  to  the  middle  of  the  lock  of  a  canal, 
and  no  other  vestige  of  her,  backward  or  forward,  could 
be  traced.  The  body,  however,  was  found  in  the  canal. 
The  way  in  which  the  incident  was  treated,  and  the  spirit- 
ualizing of  the  character,  might  furnish  hints  for  contrast- 
ing the  imaginative  influences,  which  I  have  endeavoured 
to  throw  over  common  life,  with  Crabbe's  matter-of-fact 

>  Vol.  i.  p.  214.  3  Vol.  ii.  p.  102.  3  Vol.  ii.  p.  103. 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  24.  *  Vol.  ii.  p.  48.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  190. 
'  MSS.  I.  F.                  «  Vol.  i.  p.  156. 

*  [The  application  was  also  made  by  the  Poet  himelf :  in  a  con- 
versation with  my  brother  in  1845  he  mentioned  that  when  he  sate 
for  his  bust,  he  recited  to  Sir  Francis  Chantrey  the  stanzas,  begin- 
ning— ' But  who  is  he,  with  modest  looks,*  etc.  —  h.  k] 

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BESIDENCE   IN   GERMANY.  137 

Style  of  handling  subjects  of  the  same  kind.  This  is  not 
spoken  to  his  disparagement,  far  from  it ;  but  to  direct  the 
attention  of  thoughtful  readers,  into  whose  hands  these 
notes  may  fall,  to  a  comparison  that  may  enlarge  the 
circle  of  their  sensibilities,  and  tend  to  produce  in  them 
a  catholic  judgment.' 

The  piercing  cold  of  the  season,  together  with  the  in- 
door occupation  of  learning  German,  suggested  some  lines 
bespeaking  sympathy  in  suffering  with  the  feeblest  insects 
of  creation. 

Lines  written  in  Germany^  1798-9^- — 'A  plague,' 
&c.  — '  A  bitter  winter  it  was  when  these  verses  were 
composed  by  the  side  of  my  sister,  in  our  lodgings,  at  a 
draper's  house,  in  the  romantic  imperial  town  of  Goslar, 
on  the  edge  of  the  Hartz  forest.  In  this  town  the  German 
Emperors  of  the  Franconian  line  were  accustomed  to 
keep  their  court,  and  it  retains  vestiges  of  ancient  splen- 
dour. So  severe  was  the  cold  of  this  winter,  that  when 
we  passed  out  of  the  parlour  warmed  by  the  stove,  our 
cheeks  were  struck  by  the  air  as  by  by  cold  iron.  I  slept 
in  a  room  over  a  passage  that  was  not  ceiled.  The  people 
of  the  house  used  to  say  rather  unfeelingly,  that  they 
expected  I  should  be  frozen  to  death  some  night ;  but  with 
the  protection  of  a  pelisse  lined  with  fur,  and  a  dog's-skin 
bonnet,  such  as  was  worn  by  the  peasants,  I  walked  daily 
on  the  ramparts,  or  on  a  sort  of  public  ground  or  garden, 
in  which  was  a  pond.  Here  I  had  no  companion  but  a 
kingfisher,  a  beautiful  creature  that  used  to  glance  by  me. 
I  consequently  became  much  attached  to  it.  During  these 
walks  I  composed  The  PoeVs  Epitaph."*^ 

Here  also  he  wrote  Ruth;^  which  was  'suggested  by 
an  account  he  had  of  a  wanderer  in  Somersetshire.' 

»  MSS.  I.  F.  9  Vol.  iv.  p.  189.  '  Vol.  ii.  p.  116. 

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138  BESIDBNCB   IN  GERKANT. 

Here  also  when  his  memory  was  at  leisure,  it  reverted 
to  his  schoolboy  days.  The  Address  to  the  Scholars  of  a 
Village  School,^ 

'  I  heard  the  blessing  which  to  you 
Our  common  friend  and  father  sent/ 

appears  to  refer  to  the  death-bed  farewell  of  his  own 
master,  Taylor ;  and  the  kindred  poems,  The  Tioo  April 
Mornings;^  The  Fountain^  a  Conversation;^  Matthew j"* 
seem  to  be  connected  more  or  less  nearly  with  the  same 
person,  and  some  of  his  predecessors  or  successors.* 
The  printed  note  prefixed  to  the  last-named  poem,  Mat' 
thew,  speaks  of  '  a  school  in  which  there  is  a  tablet,  on 
which  are  inscribed  the  names  of  the  schoolmasters.' 

Certain  it  is,  while  he  was  at  Goslar,  his  mind  was  often 
roaming  on  the  banks  of  Esthwaite  and  Windermere. 
He  then  composed  the  lines  on  Nutting^^  in  which  he 
describes  the  discretion  of  his  ancient  Dame,  and  the  joys 
of  his  schoolboy  days,  and  the  winter  scene  on  Esthwaite 
Lake,  and  th^  influence  of  natural  objects  in  calling  forth 
his  imagination  in  early  youth. 

'  Wisdom  and  spirit  of  the  universe,* 
Thou  soul,  that  art  the  eternity  of  thought ! 

>  Vol,  V.  p.  124.  8  Vol.  iv.  p.  195. 

«  Vol.  iv.  p.  197.  *  Vol.  iv.  p.  193.    See  above,  p.  37,  38. 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  98.  «  Vol.  i.  p.  172. 

*  [In  a  letter  dated  March  27th,  1843,  Mr.  Wordsworth  said  to 
me,  — '  The  character  of  the  Schoolmaster  about  whom  you 
inquire,  had,  like  the  Wanderer  in  the  Excursion,  a  solid  foun- 
dation in  fact  and  reality,  but  like  him  was  also  in  some  degree 
a  composition ;  I  will  not  and  need  not  call  it  an  invention,  it  was 
no  such  thing :  but  were  I  to  enter  into  details,  I  fear  it  would 
impair  the  effect  of  the  whole  upon  your  mind,  nor  could  I  do  it 
at  all  to  my  own  satisfaction.'  — h.  r.] 

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RESIDENCE   IN   GERMANtT.  139 

.  And  givest  to  forms  and  images  a  breath 
And  everlasting  motion,  not  in  vain 
By  day  or  starlight  thus  from  my  first  dawn 
Of  childhood  didst  thou  intertwine  for  me 
The  passions  that  build  up  our  human  soul ; 
Not  with  the  mean  and  vulgar  works  of  man, 
But  with  high  objects.' 

There,  also,  he  wrote  those  other  lines : 

'  There  was  a  Boy :  ye  knew  him  well,  ye  cliffs 
And  islands  of  Winander.^  * 

He  sent  these  verses  in  MS.  to  his  friend  Coleridge, 
then  at  Ratzeburg,  who  thus  writes  ^  in  reply :  '  The  blank 
lines  gave  me  as  much  direct  pleasure  as  was  possible  in 
the  general  bustle  of  pleasure  with  which  I  received  and 
read  your  letter.  I  observed,  I  remember,  that  the  "  fin- 
gers woven,"  3  &c.,  only  puzzled  me  ;  and  though  I  liked 
the  twelve  or  fourteen  first  lines  very  well,  yet  I  liked  the 
remainder  much  better.  Well,  now  I  have  read  them 
again,  they  are  very  beautiful,  and  leave  an  affecting  im- 
pression.    That 

"  Uncertain  heaven  received 
Into  the  bosom  of  the  steady  lake," 

I  should  have  recognised  anywhere  ;  and  had  I  met  these 
lines  running  wild  in  the  deserts  of  Arabia,  I  should  have 
instantly  screamed  out  "  Wordsworth !  " ' 

» Vol.  ii.  p.  93. 

8  In  a  letter  dated  Ratzeburg,  Dec.  10,  1798,  addressed  to 
*  M.  Werdsmorth, 
Chez  Madame  la  Veuve  Dippennaeff 

Dans  la  Grande  Bue, 

Goslar,  Basse  Saze.* 
*  In  imitating  the  hooting  of  the  owls,  '  William  Raincock,  of 
Rayrigg,  a  fine  spirited  lad,  took  the  lead  of  all  my  school-fellows 
inthisart.'  — MSS.  I.F. 


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140  KESIDENCE   IN   GERMANY. 

In  the  correspondence  which  passed  between  him  and 
Wordsworth,  Coleridge  expresses  unbounded  admiration 
and  affection  for  his  friend.  After  speaking  of  some  plan 
for  their  future  habitation  in  neighbourhood  to  each  other, 
*  I  am  sure  I  need  not  say,'  he  writes, '  how  you  are  incor- 
porated into  the  better  part  of  my  being ;  how,  whenever 
I  spring  forward  into  the  future  with  noble  affections,  I 
always  alight  by  your  side.' 

The  following  discussion  concerning  German  hexame- 
ters, in  two  of  Coleridge's  letters,  is  interesting  in  itself, 
and  introduces  expressions  of  strong  attachment  to  Words- 
worth and  his  sister : 

'With  regard  to  measures,  I  am  convinced  that  our 
language  is,  in  some  instances,  better  adapted  to  these 
metres  than  the  German ;  e.  g.  "  a  "  and  "  the  "  are  better 
short  syllables  than  "  ein  "  and  "  der ; "  "  not  "  than 
"  nichty  ...  Is  the  German,  in  truth,  adapted  to  these 
metres  ?  I  grievously  suspect  that  it  is  all  pure  pedantry. 
Some  advantages  there,  doubtless,  are,  for  we  cannot  fall 
foul  of  any  thing  without  advantages.' 

And  in  another  letter  he  writes  : 

'  As  to  the  German  hexameters,  they  have  in  their  very 
essence  grievous  defects.  It  is  possible  and  probable  that 
we  receive  organically  very  little  pleasure  from  the  Greek 
and  Latin  hexameters;  for,  most  certainly,  we  read  all 
the  spondees  as  iambics  or  trochees.  But  then  the  words 
have  a  fixed  quantity.  We  know  it;  and  there  is  an 
effect  produced  in  the  brain  similar  to  harmoiiy  without 
passing  through  the  ear-hole.  The  same  words,  with 
different  meanings,  rhyming  in  Italian,  is  a  close  analogy. 
I  suspect  that  great  part  of  the  pleasure  derived  from 
Virgil  consists  in  this  satisfaction  of  the  judgment.  "  Ma- 
jestate  manus"  begins  an  hexameter;  and  a  very  good 
beginning  it  is.     "  Majestate  magna "  is  read  exactly  in 

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BESIDENCE   IN   GERMANY.  141 

the  same  manner,  yet  that  were  a  false  quantity ;  and  a 
schoolmaster  would  conceit  that  it  offended  his  ear.  Sec- 
ondly, the  words  having  fixed  quantities  in  Latin,  the  lines 
are  always  of  equal  length  in  time ;  but  in  German,  what 
is  now  a  spondee  is  in  the  next  line  only  two-thirds  of  a 
dactyl.  Thirdly,  women  all  dislike  the  hexameters  with 
whom  I  have  talked.  They  say,  and  in  my  opinion  they 
say  truly,  that  only  the  two  last  feet  have  any  discernible 
melody ;  and  when  the  liberty  of  two  spondees,  "  Jovis 
incrementum,"  is  used,  it  is  absolute  prose. 

'  When  I  was  ill  and  wakeful,  I  composed  some  English 
hexameters : 

'  William,  my  teacher,  my  friend !  dear  William  and  dear  Doro- 
thea! 
Smooth  out  the  folds  of  my  letter,  and  place  it  on  desk  or  on 

table ; 
Place  it  on  table  or  desk;  and  your  right  hands  loosely  half* 

closing, 
Crently  sustain  them  in  air,  and  extending  the  digit  didactic, 
Rest  it  a  moment  on  each  of  the  forks  of  the  five-forked  lefl  hand, 
Twice  on  the  breadth  of  the  thumb,  and  once  on  the  tip  of  each 

finger ; 
Bead  with  a  nod  of  the  head  in  a  humouring  recitativo ; 
And,  as  I  live,  you  will  see  my  hexameters  hopping  before  you. 
This  is  a  galloping  measure ;  a  hop,  and  a  trot,  and  a  gallop ! 
All  my  hexameters  fly,  like  stags  pursued  by  the  stag-hounds. 
Breathless  and  panting,  and  ready  to  drop,  yet  flying  still «  on- 
wards. 
I  would  full  fain  pull  in  my  hard-mouthed  runaway  hunter  j 
But  our  English  Spondeans  are  clumsy  yet  impotent  curb-reins  j 
And  so  to  make  him  go  slowly,  no  way  have  I  lefl  but  to  lame 
him. 

*  False  metre.      '  '  Still  flying  onwards,'  were  perhaps  better. 


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142  RSSIDENCB  IN  OBBMANT, 

'  William;  my  head  and  my  heart !  dear  Poet  that  feelest  aad 
thinkest ! 

Borothy,  eager  of  soul,  my  most  affectionate  sister ! 

Many  a  mile,  0 !  many  a  wearisome  mile  are  ye  distant, 

Long,  long,  comfortless  roads,  with  no  one  eye  that  doth  know  ns. 

O !  it  is  all  too  far  to  send  to  yon  mockeries  idle : 

Yes,  and  I  feel  it  not  right !    But  O !  my  friends,  my  beloved ! 

Feverish  and  wakeful  I  lie,  —  I  am  weary  of  feeling  and  think- 
ing. 

Every  thought  is  worn  donm,  —  I  am  weary,  yet  cannot  be  vacant. 

Five  long  hours  have  I  tossed,  rheumatic  heats,  dry  and  flushing. 

Gnawing  behind  in  my  head,  and  wandering  and  throbbing  about 
me, 

Busy  and  tiresome,  my  friends,  as  the  beat  of  the  boding  night-  ^ 
spider.' 

*  I  forget  the  beginning  of  the  line  : 

' my  eyes  are  a  burthen, 

Now  unwillingly  closed,  now  open  and  aching  with  darkness. 
0 !  what  a  life  is  the  eye !  what  a  fine  and  inscrutable  essence  ! 
Him  that  is  utterly  blind,  nor  glimpses  the  fire  that  warms  him  ; 
Him  that  never  beheld  the  swelling  breast  of  his  mother ; 
Him  that  ne'er  smiled  at  the  bosom  as  babe  that  smiles  in  its 

slumb^j 
Even  to  him  it  exists,  it  stirs  and  moves  in  its  prison ; 
Lives  with  a  separate  life,  and  ''  Is  it  the  spirit  ? "  he  murmurs : 
Sure,  it  has  thoughts  of  its  own,  and  to  see  is  only  its  language.' 

'  There  was  a  great  deal  more,  which  I  have  forgotten, 
as  I  never  wrote  it  down.  No  doubt,  much  better  might 
be  written;  but  these  will  still  give  you  some  idea  of 
them.  The  last  line  which  I  wrote  I  remember,  and 
write  it  for  the  truth  of  the  sentiment,  scarcely  less  true 
in  company  than  in  pain  and  solitude : 

'  William,  my  head  and  my  heart !  dear  William  and  dear  Doro- 
thea! 
You  have  all  in  each  other ;  but  I  am  lonely,  and  want  you ! " ' 

^  False  metre. 

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CHAPTER  XV. 

RETURN   TOWARDS   ENGLAND. COMMENCEMENT   OF 

'THE   PRELUDE.' 

In  the  beginning  of  1799,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  were 
preparing  to  leave  Goslar,  which  they  quitted  on  the  10th 
February  of  that  year. 

He  felt  inspirited  by  the  change  of  place.  When  he 
set  forth  from  this  imperial  city,  so  dull  and  dreary  as  it 
had  been  to  him,  and  when  the  prospect  of  a  transition 
from  its  frost  and  snow  to  a  more  genial  climate  opened 
upon  him,  he  seemed  to  be  like  one  emancipated  from 
the  thraldom  of  a  prison  :  it  gave  new  life  and  alacrity  to 
his  soul.  He  had  been  composing  Minor  Poems;  but 
he  now  projected  something  of  a  higher  aim,  and  more 
comprehensive  scope.  He  was  about  to  enter  his  thirtieth 
year.  It  was  time  that  he  should  ascertain  for  himself 
whether  he  was  justified  in  choosing  a  poet's  life  as  a 
profession  ;  he  would,  therefore,  make  some  serious 
essay,  for  the  purpose  of  testing  his  own  strength.  What 
should  be  the  argument  ?  After  much  consideration,  he 
chose  his  own  intellectual  being  as  his  subject,  '  The 
growth  of  his  own  mind.'  He  would  review  his  own 
metaphysical  history,  from  infancy  through  boyhood, 
school  time,  and  college  life :  his  travels,  his  hopes  and 
aspirations,  his  disappointments  and  distresses,  his  inward 
conflicts  and  perplexities,  the  restoration  of  health  and 
freshness  to  a  disordered  and  drooping  imagination  — 
these  should  be  the  topics  which  he  would  treat.    And 

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144  COMMENCEMENT    OF  ^THE   PRELUDE.^ 

the  proposed  poem  should  be  addressed  to  one  who  would 
sympathize  with  him  as  a  poet  and  a  friend  —  S.  T.  Cole- 

BIDGE. 

Hence,  therefore,  scarcely  having  issued  from  the  gates 
of  Goslar,  he  poured  forth  the  impassioned  strain  which 
forms  the  commencement  of  '  The  Prelude.' 

'  O  there  is  blessing  in  this  gentle  breeze, 
A  visitant  that  while  it  fans  my  cheek 
Doth  seem  half-conscious  of  the  joy  it  brings 
From  the  green  fields,  and  from  yon  azure  sky. 
Whatever  its  mission,  the  soft  breeze  can  come 
To  none  more  grateful  than  to  me ;  escaped 
From  the  vast  City,  where  I  long  had  pined 
A  discontented  sojourner :  now  free. 
Free  as  a  bird  to  settle  where  I  will. 

For  I,  meihought,  while  the  sweet  breath  of  heaven 

Was  blowing  on  my  body,  felt  within 

A  correspondent  breeze,  that  gently  moved 

With  quickening  virtue,  but  is  now  become 

A  tempest,  a  redundant  energy, 

Vexing  its  own  creation.    Thanks  to  both, 

And  their  congenial  powers,  that,  while  they  join 

In  breaking  up  a  long-continued  frost. 

Bring  with  them  vernal  promises,  the  hope 

Of  active  days  urged  on  by  flying  hours,  — 

Days  of  sweet  leisure,  taxed  with  patient  thought 

Abstruse,  nor  wanting  punctual  service  high, 

Matins  and  vespers  of  harmonious  verse ! 

'  Thus  far,  0  Friend !  did  I,  not  used  to  make 
A  present  joy  the  matter  of  a  song. 
Pour  forth  that  day  my  soul  in  measured  strains 
That  would  not  be  forgotten^  and  are  here 
Recorded :  to  the  open  fields  I  told 
A  prophecy  :  poetic  numbers  came 
Spontaneously,  to  clothe  in  priestly  robe 
A  renovated  spirit  singled  out, 
Such  hope  was  mine,  for  holy  services. 


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COMMENCEMENT   OF   ^  THE   PEELUDE.^  145 

My  own  voice  cheered  me,  and  far  more,  the  mind's 

Internal  echo  of  the  imperfect  soand ; 

To  both  I  listened,  drawing  from  them  both 

A  cheerful  confidence  in  things  to  come.' 

The  poem,  thus  commenced,  proceeded  for  a  while 
with  a  regular  pace :  it  then  paused  for  a  considerable 
interval.  Of  the  fourteen  books,  which  now  complete  it, 
six  had  been  written  in  1805,  and  the  seventh  was  begun 
in  the  spring  of  that  year ;  it  opens  with  the  following 
lines :  * 

'  Six  changeful  years  have  vanished,  since  I  first 
Poured  out  (saluted  by  that  quickening  breeze 
Which  met  me  issuing  from  the  City's  walls) 
A  glad  preamble  to  this  verse  :  I  sang 
Aloud,  with  fervour  irresistible 
^  Of  short-lived  transport,  like  a  torrent  bursting 

From  a  black  thunder-cloud,  down  Scawfell's  side 

To  rush  and  disappear.    But  soon  broke  forth 

(So  willed  the  Muse)  a  less  impetuous  stream. 

That  flowed  awhile  with  unabating  strength ; 

Then  stopped  for  years ;  not  audible  again 

Before  last  primrose-lime.    Beloved  Friend ! 

The  assurance  which  then  cheered  some  heavy  thoughts 

On  thy  departure  to  a  foreign  land 

Has  failed  j  too  slowly  moves  the  promised  work.' 

The  seventh  book  and  the  remaining  seven  were  writ- 
ten before  the  end  of  June,  1805,  when  his  friend  Cole- 
ridge was  in  the  island  of  Malta,  for  the  restoration  of 
his  health. 

Having  given  this  brief  outline  of  '  The  Prelude,'  [ 
will  reserve  further  notice  of  it  to  a  later  stage  of  the 
narrative. 

Early  in  the  spring  of  1799,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister 


•  Prelude,  book  vii.  p.  171. 
VOL.  I.  10  r^         T 

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146  KETTTRN   TOWARDS  ENGLAND. 

returned  to  England.  *  We  are  now,'  he  says  in  a  letter 
to  Cottle,  ^  in  the  county  of  Durham,  just  upon  the  borders 
of  Yorkshire.  We  left  Coleridge  well  at  Gottingen  a 
month  ago.  We  have  spent  our  time  pleasantly  enough 
in  Germany,  but  we  are  right  glad  to  find  ourselves  in 
England —  for  we  have  learnt  to  know  its  value.* 


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CHAPTER   XVI. 


SETTLEMENT    AT    GRASMEEE. 


The  Poet  Gray  visited  Grasmere  in  October,  1769.  He 
came  from  Keswick,  over  Dunmail  Raise,  and  thus  de- 
scribes what  he  then  saw :  ^  — '  Oct,  8.  •  .  I  entered 
(coming  from  Keswick)  Westmoreland,  a  second  time, 
and  now  began  to  see  Helm-crag,  distinguished  from  its 
rugged  neighbours,  not  so  much  by  its  height  as  by  the 
strange  broken  outlines  of  its  top,  like  some  gigantic 
building  demolished,  and  the  stones  that  composed  it 
flung  across  each  other  in  wild  confusion.  Just  beyond 
it  opens  one  of  the  sweetest  landscapes  that  art  ever 
attempted  to  imitate.  The  bosom  of  the  mountains 
spreading  here  into  a  broad  basin  discovers  in  the  midst 
Grasmere- Water.  Its  margin  is  hollowed  into  small  bays, 
with  bold  eminences,  some  of  rock,  some  of  soft  turf, 
that  half  conceal  and  vary  the  figure  of  the  little  lake 
they  command.  From  the  shore,  a  low  promontory  pushes 
itself  far  into  the  water,  and  on  it  stands  a  white  village, 
with  the  parish  church  rising  in  the  midst  of  it.  Hanging 
inclosures,  corn-fields,  and  meadows,  green  as  an  emerald, 
with  their  trees,  and  hedges,  and  cattle,  fill  up  the  whole 
space  from  the  edge  of  the  water ;  and  just  opposite  to 
you  is  a  large  farm-house,  at  the  bottom  of  a  steep  smooth  , 
lawn,  embosomed  in  old  woods  which  climb  halfway  up 
the  mountain  side,  and  discover  above  them  a  broken  line 

*  Gray's  Works,  ed.  Mathias  London,  1814,  p.  459. 

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148  SETTLEMENT  AT  GRASMERE. 

of  crags  that  crown  the  scene.  Not  a  single  red  tile^  no 
flaring  gentleman'* s  house ^  or  garden  walls ^  hreak  in  upon 
the  repose  of  this  little  unsuspected  paradise ;  hut  all  is 
peace^  rusticity ^  and  happy  poverty  in  its  neatest  and  most 
"becoming  attire,'* 

Such  was  the  scene  in  which  Mr.  Wordsworth  was  now 
about  to  fix  his  abode. 

In  the  spring  of  1799,  after  their  return  from  Germany, 
he  and  his  sister  went  to  visit  their  friends,  the  Hutchin- 
sons,  at  Sockburn-on-Tees,  and  they  remained  there,  with 
the  exception  of  the  time  spent  in  certain  occasional  ex- 
cursions, till  almost  the  close  of  the  year. 

On  September  2d,  Wordsworth  writes  from  Sockbum 
to  his  friend  Cottle,  '  If  you  come  down  .  •  .  I  will 
accompany  you  on  your  tour.  You  will  come  by  Qreta 
Bridge,  which  is  about  twenty  miles  from  this  place: 
thither  Dorothy  and  I  will  go  to  meet  you.  .  .  .  Dorothy 
will  return  to  Sockburn,  and  I  will  accompany  you  into 
Cumberland  and  Westmoreland.' 

Coleridge  joined  Wordsworth  in  this  excursion.  Words- 
worth was  also  accompanied  by  his  sailor  brother,  John. 
Mr.  Cottle  was  not  able  to  proceed  beyond  Greta  Bridge. 
It  was  Coleridge's  first  visit  to  the  Lake  country,  and  he 
thus  describes  his  impressions,  in  a  letter  from  Keswick 
to  Miss  Wordsworth,  who  remained  with  her  friends  at 
Sockburn. 

'  William  has  received  your  two  letters.  At  Temple 
Sowerby  we  met  your  brother  John,  who  accompanied  us 
to  Ha wes- Water,  Ambleside,  and  the  divine  sisters  Rydal 
and  Grasmere.  Here  we  stayed  two  days.  We  accom- 
panied John  over  the  fork  of  Helvellyn,  on  a  day  when 
light  and  darkness  co-existed  in  contiguous  masses,  and 
the  earth  and  sky  were  but  one.  Nature  lived  for  us 
in  all   her   grandest  accidents.     We   quitted   him  by  a 

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SETTLEMENT  AT  GBASMEBE.  149 

wild  tarn  just  as  we  caught  a  view  of  the  gloomy  Ulls- 
water. 

'  Your  brother  John  is  one  of  you ;  a  man  who  hath 
solitary  usings  of  his  own  intellect,  deep  in  feeling,  with  a 
subtle  tact,  a  swift  instinct  of  truth  and  beauty :  he  inter- 
ests me  much.' 

'  You  can  feel,  what  I  cannot  express  for  myself,  how 
deeply  1  have  been  impressed  by  a  world  of  scenery  abso- 
lutely new  to  me.  At  Eydal  and  Grasmere  I  received,  I 
think,  the  deepest  delight;  yet  Hawes- Water,  through 
many  a  varying  view,  kept  my  eyes  dim  with  tears  ;  and, 
the  evening  approaching,  Derwent- Water,  in  diversity  of 
harmonious  features,  in  the  majesty  of  its  beauties,  and  in 
the  beauty  of  its  majesty  ....  and  the  black  crags  close 
under  the  snowy  mountains,  whose  snows  were  pinkish 
with  the  setting  sun,  and  the  reflections  from  the  rich 
clouds  that  floated  over  some  and  rested  upon  others  I  — 
it  was  to  me  a  vision  of  a  fair  country :  why  were  you 
not  with  us  ?  ' 

Wordsworth  gives  some  particulars  of  the  same  tour  as 
follows :  — 

'  We  left  Cottle,  as  you  know,  at  Greta  Bridge.  We 
were  obliged  to  take  the  mail  over  Stanemoor :  the  road 
interesting  with  sun  and  mist.  At  Temple  Sowerby  I 
learned  that  John  was  at  Newbiggin.  I  sent  a  note ;  he 
came,  looks  very  well,  said  he  would  accompany  us  a  few 
days.  Next  day  we  set  off*  and  dined  at  Mr.  Myers', 
thence  to  Bampton,  where  we  slept.  On  Friday  proceed- 
ed along  the  lake  of  Hawes- Water,  a  noble  scene  which 
pleased  us  much.  The  mists  hung  so  low  that  we  could 
not  go  directly  over  to  Ambleside,  so  w6  went  round 
by  Long  Sleddale  to  Kentmere,  Troutbeck,  Rayrigg,  and 
Bowness ;  .  .  .  a  rainy  and  raw  day.  .  .  .  Went  to  the 
ferry,  much  disgusted  with  the  new  erections  about  Wind- 
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150  SETTLEMENT  AT  6EASMEEE. 

crmere  ;  .  .  .  Ihence  to  Hawkshead :  great  change  among 
the  people  since  we  were  last  there.  Next  day  by  Rydal 
to  Grasmere,  Robert  Newton's.  At  Robert  Newton's  we 
have  remained  till  to-day.  John  left  us  on  Tuesday :  we 
walked  with  him  to  the  tarn.  This  day  was  a  fine  one, 
and  we  had  some  grand  mountain  scenery ;  the  rest  of 
the  week  has  been  bad  weather.  The  evening  before  last 
we  walked  to  the  upper  waterfall  at  Rydal,  and  saw  it 
through  the  gloom,  and  it  was  very  magnificent.  Cole- 
ridge was  much  struck  with  Grasmere  and  its  neighbour- 
hood. I  have  much  to  say  to  you.  You  will  think  my 
plan  a  mad  one,  but  I  have  thought  of  building  a  house 
there  by  the  lake-side.  John  would  give  me  40Z.  to  buy 
the  ground.  There  is  a  small  house  at  Grasmere  empty, 
which,  perhaps,  we  may  take  ;  but  of  this  we  will  speak.* 

Wordsworth  returned  from  the  North  to  his  sister  at ' 
Sockburn ;  and  the  result  of  their  joint  deliberation  was 
that  the  building  scheme  was  abandoned,  and  the  *  small 
house '  was  taken,  and  they  entered  upon  it  on  St.  Tho- 
mas's day,  1799. 

A  few  days  after  their  arrival,  Wordsworth  wrote  to 
Coleridge  describing  their  journey  from  Sockburn  to  Gras- 
mere. ^ 

'  We  arrived  here  on  the  evening  of  St.  Thomas's  day, 
last  Friday,  and  have  now  been  four  days  in  our  new 
abode  without  writing  to  you  —  a  long  time !  but  we  have 
been  in  such  confusion  as  not  to  have  had  a  moment's 
leisure.  My  dear  friend,  we  talk  of  you  perpetually,  and 
for  me  I  see  you  everywhere.  But  let  me  be  a  little 
more  methodical.  We  left  Sockburn  last  Tuesday  morn- 
ing.    We  crossed  the  Tees  by  moonlight  in  the  Sockburn 

•  The  original  of  this  letter  is  very  difficult  to  decipher,  and  I 
cannot,  therefore,  vouch  for  exact  accuracy  in  the  transcript. 

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SETTLEMENT  AT  6RASMERE.  151 

fields,  and  after  ten  good  miles'  riding  came  in  sight  of 
the  Swale.  It  is  there  a  beautiful  river,  with  its  green 
bank  and  flat  holms  scattered  over  with  trees.  Four 
miles  further  brought  us  tor  Richmond,  with  its  huge  ivied 
castle,  its  friarage  steeple,  its  castle  tower  resembling  a 
huge  steeple,  and  two  other  steeple  towers,  for  such  they 
appeared  to  us.  The  situation  of  this  place  resembles 
that  of  Barnard  Castle,  but  I  should  suppose  is  somewhat 
inferior  to  it  George  accompanied  us  eight  miles  further, 
and  there  we  parted  with  sorrowful  hearts.  We  were  now 
in  Wensley  Dale,  and  D.  and  I  set  off  side  by  side  to  foot  it 
as  far  as  Kendal.  I  will  not  clog  my  letter  with  a  descrip- 
tion of  this  celebrated  dale ;  but  I  must  not  neglect  to 
mention  that  a  little  before  sunset  we  reached  one  of  the 
waterfalls,  of  which  I  read  you  a  short  description  in  Mr. 
Taylor's  tour.  It  is  a  singular  scene ;  I  meant  to  have 
given  you  some  account  of  it,  but  I  feel  myself  too  lazy  to 
execute  the  task.  'Tis  such  a  performance  as  you  might 
have  expected  from  some  giant  gardener  employed  by  one 
of  Queen  Elizabeth's  courtiers,  if  this  same  giant  gar- 
dener had  consulted  with  Spenser,  and  they  two  had 
finished  the  work  together.  By  this  you  will  understand 
that  it  is  at  once  formal  and  wild.  We  reached  Askrigg, 
twelve  miles,  before  six  in  the  evening,  having  been 
obliged  to  walk  the  last  two  miles  over  hard  frozen  roads 
to  the  great  annoyance  of  our  ankles  and  feet.  Next 
morning  the  earth  was  thinly  covered  with  snow,  enough 
to  make  the  road  soft  and  prevent  its  being  slippery.  On 
leaving  Askrigg  we  turned  aside  to  see  another  waterfall. 
It  was  a  beautiful  morning,  with  driving  snow  showers, 
which  disappeared  by  fits,  and  unveiled  the  east,  which 
was  all  one  delicious  pale  orange  colour.  After  walking 
through  two  small  fields  we  came  to  a  mill,  which  we 
passed ;  and  in  a  moment  a  sweet  little  valley  opened 

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152  SETTLEMENT  AT  GRASMERE. 

before  us,  with  an  area  of  grassy  ground,  and  a  stream 
dashing  over  various  laminae  of  black  rocks  close  under  a 
bank  covered  with  firs ;  the  bank  and  stream  on  our  left, 
another  woody  bank  on  our  right,  and  the  flat  meadow  in 
front,  from  which,  as  at  Buttermere,  the  stream  had  retired 
as  it  were  to  hide  itself  under  the  shade.  As  we  walked 
up  this  delightful  valley  we  were  tempted  to  look  back 
perpetually  on  the  stream,  which  reflected  the  orange 
lights  of  the  morning  among  the  gloomy  rocks,  with  a 
brightness  varying  with  the  agitation  of  the  current.  The 
steeple  of  Askrigg  was  between  us  and  the  east,  at  the 
bottom  of  the  valley ;  it  was  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, but  oh  I  how  far  we  were  from  it  I  The  two  banks 
seemed  to  join  before  us  with  a  facing  of  rock  common  to 
them  both.  When  we  reached  this  bottom  the  valley 
opened  out  again ;  two  rocky  banks  on  each  side,  which, 
hung  with  ivy  and  moss,  and  fringed  luxuriantly  with 
brushwood,  ran  directly  parallel  to  each  other,  and  then 
approaching  with  a  gentle  curve  at  their  point  of  union, 
presented  a  lofty  waterfall,  the  termination  of  the  val- 
ley. It  was  a  keen  frosty  morning,  showers  of  snow 
threatening  us,  but  the  sun  bright  and  active.  We  had  a 
task  of  twenty-one  miles  to  perform  in  a  short  winter's 
day.  All  this  put  our  minds  into  such  a  state  of  excita- 
tion that  we  were  no  unworthy  spectators  of  this  delightful 
scene.  On  a  nearer  approach  the  waters  seemed  to  fall 
down  a  tall  arch  or  niche  that  had  shaped  itself  by  insen- 
sible moulderings  in  the  wall  of  an  old  castle.  We  left 
this  spot  with  reluctance,  but  highly  exhilarated.  When 
we  had  walked  about  a  mile  and  a  half  we  overtook  two 
men  with  a  string  of  ponies  and  some  empty  carts.  I 
recommended  to  Dorothy  to  avail  herself  of  this  opportu- 
nity of  husbanding  her  strength  :  we  rode  with  them  more 
than  two  miles.     'Twas  bitter  cold,  the  wind  driving  the 

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SETTLEMENT   AT    GRASMERE.  153 

snow  behind  us  in  the  best  style  of  a  roountain  storm. 
We  soon  re$ched  an  inn  at  a  place  called  Hardrane,  and 
descending  from  our  vehicles,  after  warming  ourselves  by 
the  cottage  fire,  we  walked  up  the  brookside  to  take  a 
view  of  a  third  waterfall.  We  had  not  walked  above  a 
few  hundred  yards  between  two  winding  rocky  banks 
before  we  came  full  upon  the  waterfall,  which  seemed  to 
throw  itself  in  a  narrow  line  from  a  lofty  wall  of  rock,  the 
water,  which  shot  manifestly  to  some  distance  from  the 
rock,  seeming  to  be  dispersed  into  a  thin  shower  scarcely 
visible  before  it  reached  the  basin.  We  were  disappointed 
in  the  cascade  itself,  though  the  introductory  and  accom- 
panying banks  were  an  exquisite  mixture  of  grandeur  and 
beauty.  We  walked  up  to  the  fall ;  and  what  would  I  not 
give  if  I  could  convey  to  you  the  feelings  and  images 
which  were  then  communicated  to  me  ?  After  cautiously 
sounding  our  way  over  stones  of  all  colours  and  sizes, 
encased  in  the  clearest  water  formed  by  the  spray  of  the 
fall,  we  found  the  rock,  which  before  had  appeared  like  a 
wall,  extending  itself  over  our  heads,  like  the  ceiling  of  a 
huge  cave,  from  the  summit  of  which  the  waters  shot 
directly  over  our  heads  into  a  basin,  and  among  frag- 
ments wrinkled  over  with  masses  of  ice  as  white  as  snow, 
or  rather,  as  Dorothy  says,  like  congealed  froth.  The 
water  fell  at  least  ten  yards  from  us,  and  we  stood  directly 
behind  it,  the  excavation  not  so  deep  in  the  rock  as  to 
impress  any  feeling  of  darkness,  but  lofty  and  mag- 
nificent ;  but  in  connection  with  the  adjoining  banks 
excluding  as  much  of  the  sky  as  could  well  be  spared 
from  a  scene  so  exquisitely  beautiful.  The  spot  where 
we  stood  was  as  dry  as  the  chamber  in  which  I  am  now 
sitting,  and  the  incumbent  rock,  of  which  the  groundwork 
was  limestone,  veined  and  dappled  with  colours  which 
melted   into  each  other  with  every   possible  variety  of 

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154  SETTLEMENT  AT  GRASMERE. 

colour.  On  the  summit  of  the  cave  were  three  f<^toons, 
or  rather  wrinkles,  in  the  rock,  run  up  paralel  like  the 
folds  of  a  curtain  when  it  is  drawn  up.  Each  of  these 
was  hung  with  icicles  of  various  length,  and  nearly  in  the 
middle  of  the  festoon  in  the  deepest  valley  of  the  waves 
that  ran  parallel  to  each  other,  the  stream  shot  from  the 
rows  of  icicles  in  irregular  fits  of  strength,  and  with  a 
body  of  water  that  every  moment  varied.  Sometimes  the 
stream  shot  into  the  basin  in  one  continued  current ; 
sometimes  it  was  interrupted  almost  in  the  midst  of  its 
fall,  and  was  blown  towards  part  of  the  waterfall  at  no 
great  distance  from  our  feet  like  the  heaviest  thunder- 
shower.  In  such  a  situation  you  have  at  every  moment  a 
feeling  of  the  presence  of  the  sky.  Large  fleecy  clouds 
drove  over  our  heads  above  the  rush  of  the  water,  and  the 
sky  appeared  of  a  blue  more  than  usually  brilliant.  The 
rocks  on  each  side,  which,  joining  with  the  side  of  this  cave, 
formed  the  vista  of  tHfe  brook,  were  chequered  with  three 
diminutive  waterfalls  or  rather  courses  of  water.  Each 
of  these  was  a  miniature  of  all  that  summer  and  winter 
can  produce  of  delicate  beauty.  The  rock  in  the  centre 
of  the  falls,  where  the  water  was  most  abundant,  a  deep 
black,  the  adjoining  parts  yellow,  white,  pui^le,  and  dove- 
colour,  covered  with  water-plants  of  the  most  vivid  green, 
and  hung  with  streaming  icicles,  that  in  some  places  seem 
to  conceal  the  verdure  of  the  plants,  and  the  violet  and 
yellow  variegation  of  the  rocks  ;  and  in  some  places  ren- 
der the  colours  more  brilliant.  I  cannot  express  to  you 
the  enchanting  effect  produced  by  this  Arabian  scene  of 
colour  as  the  wind  blew  aside  the  great  waterfall  behind 
which  we  stood,  and  alternately  hid  and  revealed  each  of 
these  fairy  cataracts  in  irregular  succession,  or  displayed 
them  with  various  gradations  of  distinctness  as  the  interven- 
ing spray  was  thickened  or  dispersed.   What  a  scene  too  in 

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SETTLEMENT  AT  GRASMERE.  155 

summdl* !  In  the  luxury  of  our  imagination  we  could  not 
help  feeding  upon  the  pleasure  which  this  cave,  in  the 
heat  of  a  July  noon,  would  spread  through  a  frame  ex- 
quisitely sensible.  That  huge  rock  on  the  right,  the  bank 
winding  round  on  the  left  with  all  its  living  foliage,  and 
the  breeze  stealing  up  the  valley,  and  bedewing  the  cavern 
with  the  freshest  imaginable  spray.  And  then  the  mur- 
mur of  the  water,  the  quiet,  the  seclusion,  and  a  long 
summer  day.' 

It  was  on  this  journey  that  the  subject  of  a  poem  was 
suggested  :  Hart  Leap  WelU  Hart  Leap  Well  is  a 
small  spring  about  five  miles  from  Eichmond,  near  the 
side  of  the  road  to  Askrigg.  Its  name  is  derived  from  a 
remarkable  chase,  the  memory  of  which  is  preserved  by 
the  monuments  mentioned  in  the  poem.  The  following 
details  concerning  the  composition  of  the  Poem  are  de- 
rived from  the  author's  recollections.^ 

Hart  Leap  Well,  — '  The  first  eight  stanzas  were  com- 
posed extempore  one  winter  evening  in  the  cottage  ;  when, 
afler  having  tired  and  disgusted  myself  with  labouring  at 
an  awkward  passage  in  "  The  Brothers,"  I  started  with  a 
sudden  impulse  to  this,  to  get  rid  of  the  other,  and  fin- 
ished it  in  a  day  or  two.  My  sister  and  I  had  passed  the 
place  a  few  weeks  before  in  our  wild  winter  journey  from 
Sockburn  on  the  banks  of  the  Tees  to  Grasmere.  A 
peasant  whom  we  met  near  the  spot  told  us  the  story,  so 
far  as  concerned  the  name  of  the  well,  and  the  hart,  and 
pointed  out  the  stones.' 

The  Poet  thus  describes  this  winfer-journey  to  Gras- 
mere :  3 

'  Bleak  season  was  it,  turbulent  and  wild, 
When  hitherward  we  journeyed  side,  by  side, 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  138.         a  MSS.  I.  F.  »  Recluse,  book  i.  MS. 

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156     '      SSTTLEKBMT  AT  GRASMEBB. 

Through  bursts  of  sanshine  and  through  flying  showers. 

Faced  the  long  vales,  how  long  they  were,  and  yet 

How  fast  that  length  of  way  was  left  behind, 

Wensley's  rich  vale  and  Sedberge's  naked  heights. 

The  frosty  wind,  as  if  to  make  amends 

For  its  keen  breath,  was  aiding  to  our  steps, 

And  drove  us  onward  as  two  ships  at  sea ; 

Or,  like  two  birds,  companions  in  mid-air, 

Farted  and  reunited  by  the  blast. 

Stern  was  the  face  of  nature  :  we  rejoiced 

In  that  stern  countenance  ;  for  our  souls  thence  drew 

A  feeling  of  their  strength.    The  naked  trees. 

The  icy  brooks,  as  on  we  passed,  appeared 

To  question  us,  "  Whence  come  ye  ?    To  what  end  ?  " ' 

We  are  now  to  imagine  the  Poet  and  his  sister  settled 
at  Grasmebe,  where  they  lived  for  eight  years. 

The  church,  which  is  the  most  prominent  structure  of 
this  vale,  is  described  in  '  The  Excursion.' 

'  Not  *  raised  in  nice  proportions  was  the  pile. 
But  large  and  massy ;  for  duration  built ; 
With  pillars  crowded,  and  the  roof  upheld 
By  naked  rafters,  intricately  crossed. 
Like  leafless  underboughs,  in  some  thick  wood ; 
Admonitory  texts  inscribed  the  walls. 
Each  in  its  ornamental  scroll  ... 

The  floor 

Of  nave  and  aisle  in  unpretending  guise 
Was  occupied  by  oaken  benches,  ranged 
In  seemly  rows.' 

Writing  in  later  years  to  Lady  Frederick  Bentinck,  the 
Poet  says :  '  The  church  is  a  very  ancient  structure  ;  some 
persons  now  propose  to  ceil  it,  a  project,  which,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  taste  and  feeling,  I  utterly  disapprove.  At  present, 
it  is  open  to  the  rafters,  and  is  accordingly  spacious,  and 

*  Excursion,  book  v.  vol.  i.  p.  143. 

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SETTLEMENT  AT  GRASMEBE.  157 

has  a  venerable  appearance,  favourable,  when  one  first 
enters,  to  devotional  impressions.' 

But  to  return :  the  cottage  in  which  Wordsworth  and 
his  sister  took  up  their  abode,  and  which  still  retains  the 
form  it  wore  then,  stands  on  the  right  hand,  by  the  side  of 
the  then  coach-road  from  Ambleside  to  Keswick,  as  it 
enters  Grasmere,  or,  as  that  part  of  the  village  is  called, 
Town-end.  The  front  of  it  faces  the  lake  ;  behind  is  a 
small  plot  of  orchard  and  garden  ground,  in  which  there 
is  a  spring,  and  rocks ;  the  whole  enclosure  shelves  up- 
ward toward  the  woody  sides  of  the  mountains  above  it. 
Many  of  his  poems,  as  the  reader  will  remember,  are 
associated  with  this  fair  spot : 

'  This  plot  of  orchard  ground  is  ours, 
My  trees  they  are,  my  sister's  flowers.'  * 

In  the  first  book  of  '  The  Recluse,'  still  unpublished,  he 
thus  expresses  his  feelings  in  settling  in  his  home  at  Gras- 
mere, and  in  looking  down  from  the  hills  which  embosom 
the  lake. 

'  On  Nature's  invitation  do  I  come,  ^ 

By  Reason  sanctioned.    Can  the  choice  mislead. 
That  made  the  calmest,  fairest  spot  on  earth. 
With  all  its  unappropriated  good. 
My  own,  and  not  mine  only,  for  with  me 
Entrenched  —  say  rather  peacefully  embowered  — 
Under  yon  orchard,  in  yon  humble  cot, 
A  younger  orphan  of  a  home  extinct, 
The  only  daughter  of  my  parents  dwells  j 
Aye,  think  on  that,  my  heart,  and  cease  to  stir  j 
Pause  upon  that,  and  let  the  breathing  frame 
No  longer  breathe,  but  all  be  satisfied. 
Oh,  if  such  silence  be  not  thanks  to  God 
For  what  hath  been  bestowed,  then  where,  where  then 
Shall  gratitude  find  rest  ?    Mine  eyes  did  ne'er 

>  '  To  a  Butterfly,'  vol.  i.  p.  208 

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158  SETTLEMENT   ^T   GRASMERE. 

Fix  on  a  lovely  object,  nor  my  mind 

Take  pleasure  in  the  midst  of  happy  thoughts, 

But  either  she,  whom  now  I  have,  who  now 

Divides  with  me  that  loved  abode,  was  there, 

Or  not  far  off.    Where'er  my  footsteps  turned, 

Her  voice  was  like  a  hidden  bird  that  sang  -, 

The  thought  of  her  was  like  a  flash  of  light 

Or  an  unseen  companionship,  a  breath 

Or  fragrance  independent  of  the  wind. 

In  all  my  goings,  in  the  new  and  old 

Of  all  my  meditations,  and  in  this 

Favourite  of  all,  in  this  the  most  of  all  .  . . 

Embrace  me  then,  ye  hills,  and  close  me  in. 

Now  in  the  clear  and  open  day  I  feel 

Your  guardianship  :  I  take  it  to  my  heart ; 

'Tis  like  the  solemn  shelter  of  the  night. 

But  I  would  call  thee  beautiful ;  for  mild. 

And  soft,  and  gay,  and  beautiful  thou  art. 

Dear  valley,  having  in  thy  face  a  smile. 

Though  peaceful,  full  of  gladness.    Thou  art  pleased. 

Pleased  with  thy  crags,  and  woody  sleeps,  thy  lake, 

Its  one  green  island,  and  its  winding  shores, 

The  multitude  of  little  rocky  hills, 

Thy  church,  and  cottages  of  mountain-stone 

Clusterediike  stars  some  few,  but  single  most, 

And  lurking  dimly  in  their  shy  retreats, 

Or  glancing  at  each  other  cheerful  looks. 

Like  separated  stars  with  clouds  between.' 


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CHAPTER    XVII. 

SBGOND   VOLUME   OF   ^  LTBICAL   BALLADS.* 

*  I  AM  anxiously  eager  to  have  you  steadily  employed  on 
"  The  Recluse,*'  '  was  the  language  of  S.  T.  Coleridge, 
to  his  friend  Wordsworth,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  him  in 
the  summer  of  1799  :  and, '  My  dear  friend,  I  do  entreat 
you  go  on  with  '  The  Recluse ; '  and  I  wish  you  would 
write  a  poem,  in  hlank  verse,  addressed  to  those,  who,  in 
consequence  of  the  complete  failure  of  the  French  Revo- 
lution, have  thrown  up  all  hopes  of  the  amelioration  of 
mankind,  and  are  sinking  into  an  almost  epicurean  self- 
ishness, disguising  the  same  under  the  soft  titles  of  domes- 
tic attachment  and  contempt  for  visionary  philosophes.  It 
would  do  great  good,  and  might  form  a  part  of  "  The 
Recluse,"  for  in  my  present  mood  I  am  wholly  against 
the  publication  of  any  small  poems.' 

Again,  on  Oct.  12,  1799,  Coleridge  says,  *  I  long  to  see 
what  you  have  been  doing.  O  let  it  be  the  tail-piece  of 
"  The  Recluse  !  "  for  of  nothing  but  "  The  Recluse  "  can 
I  hear  patiently.  That  it  is  to  be  addressed  to  me  makes 
me  more  desirous  that  it  should  not  be  a  poem  of  itself. 
To  be  addressed,  as  a  beloved  man,  by  a  thinker,  at  the 
close  of  such  a  poem  as  "  The  Recluse,"  a  poem  non 
unius  populij  is  the  only  event,  I  believe,  capable  of  in- 
citing in  me  an  hour's  vanity  —  vanity,  nay,  it  is  too  good 
a  feeling  to  be  so  called ;  it  would  indeed  be  a  self-eleva- 
tion produced  ab  extraJ* 

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160  SECOND   VOLUME   OF 

In  Dec.  1799,  he  says,  writing  from  London,  '  As  to 
myself,  I  dedicate  my  nights  and  days  to  Stuart.^  .  .  .  By 
all  means  let  me  have  the  tragedy  and  "  Peter  Bell "  as 
soon  as  possible ;  ^  and  in  Feb.  1800, '  I  grieve  that  ^'  The 
Recluse  "  sleeps.' 

Notwithstanding  these  exhortations  from  Coleridge  (who, 
it  would  appear,  calls  'The  Prelude,'  or  poem  on  the 
growth  of  the  author's  own  mind,  by  the  name  of  '  The 
Recluse '),  Wordsworth  was  now  preparing  for  publication 
a  second  volume  of  smaller  poems.  The  first  edition  of 
the  ]2mo.  single  volume  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads '  was 
exhausted ;  and  it  was  now  to  be  reprinted,  and  published 
as  the  first  volume  of  the  'Lt&ical  Ballads  in  Two 
Volumes.' 

The  second  ^   volume  was  to  consist  partly  of  some 

*  Its  contents  are  as  follows :  — 

(Lyrical  Ballads,  vol.  ii.  ed.  London,  1800.) 

Page 

Hart  Leap  Well 1 

There  was  a  Boy,  &c. 14 

The  Brothers,  a  Pastoral  Poem  -  -  -  -  19 
Ellen  Irwin ;  or,  the  Braes  of  Kirtle  -  -  -  46 
Strange  fits  of  Passion  I  have  known       -        -        -    50 

Song 52 

A  Slumber  did  my  Spirit  seal 53 

The  Waterfall  and  the  Eglantine      -        -        -        -    54 
•  The  Oak  and  the  Broom,  a  Pastoral  -        -        -58 

Lucy  Gray -64 

The  Idle  Shepherd-Boys ;  or,  Dungeon-Gill  Force : 

a  Pastoral 69 

*Tis  said  that  some  have  died,  Ace.  -  -  -  -  76 
Poor  Susan       ----  ..-80 

Inscription  for  the  Spot  where  the  Hermitage  stood 

on  St.  Herbert's  Island,  Derwent- Water        -        -    82 
Inscription  for  the  House  (an  Outhouse)  on   the 

Island  at  Grasmere -    b4 

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'LYBICAL   BALLADS.'  161 

minor  poems  already  mentioned  as  composed  in  Germanyi 
and  some  others. 

How  little  impression  had  been  made  on  the  public 
mind  by  Wordsworth's  poetry,  and  how  slender  were  the 
expectations  of  popularity  for  this  new  publication,  may 
be  estimated  from  the  fact  that  the  sum  offered  by  Messrs. 
Longman  for  two  editions  of  the  two  volumes,  did  not 
exceed  lOOZ. ;  and  the  author's  own  anticipations  were 
sufficiently  indicated  by  the  motto  prefixed  to  this  edition, 
and  to  the  two  following  ones  of  1802,  and  1805,  Quam 
nihil  ad  genium^  Papiniane,  tuum  ! 

Page 

.    To  a  Sexton 86 

Andrew  Jones 89 

The  Two  Thieves ;  or,  the  last  Stage  of  Avarice    -  92 

A  Whirl-blast  from  behind  the  Hill         -        -        -  96 

Song  for  the  Wandering  Jew 98 

Euth 103 

Lines  written  with  a  Slate-pencil  on  a  Stone,  &c.   -  117 

Lines  written  on  a  Tablet  in  a  School     -        -        -  120 

The  Two  April  Mornings 123 

The  Fountain,  a  Conversation         -        -        -        -  127 

Nutting 132 

Three  Years  she  grew,  &c. 136  ^ 

The  Pet  Lamb,  a  Pastoral 139 

Written  in  Germany  on  one  of  the  coldest  Days  in 

the  Century 144 

The  Childless  Father 147 

The  old  Cumberland  Beggar,  a  Description     -        -  151 

Rural  Architecture 163 

A  Poet's  Epitaph 165 

A  Character 169 

A  Fragment  (Danish  Boy) 171 

Poems  on  the  naming  of  Places     -        -  177  to  196 

Michael,  a  Pastoral 199 

Notes 226 

VOL.  I.  11 


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162  SECOND  VOLUME   OF 

The  first  two  months  of  their  residence  in  the  vale  of 
Grasmere  were  very  ungenial : 

'Two  months  unwearied  of  severest  storm, 
It  put  the  temper  of  our  minds  to  proof. 
And  found  us  faithful.' 

And  more  than  this,  it 

'heard 
The  Poet  mutter  his  prelusive  songs 
With  cheerful  heart.' 

The  home  of  the  poet  was  cheered  with  the  presence  of 
his  brother,  Captain  Wordsworth,  already  mentioned,  with 
whom  he  went,  on  May  14th,  oh  a  visit  to  his  friends,  the 
Hutchinsons  (who  had  moved  to  Gallow  Hill,  near  Brough- 
ton),  returning  to  Grasmere  on  the  7th  of  June;  and, 
under  the  joint  influence  of  natural  beauty  and  domestic 
affection,  his  muse  was  in  a  happy  mood. 

At  this  time,  among  other  poems,  were  written  The 
Brothers^  The  Idle  Shepherd  Boys,  The  Pet  Lamb,  Ruth^ 
Michael,  Poems  on  the  naming  of  Places,  In  the  last- 
mentioned  poems  the  author  associated  the  names  of  his 
friends,  as  well  as  his  own,  with  particular  spots  in  his 
beloved  vale.  The  occasions,  and  other  circumstances  of 
the  others,  were  thus  detailed  by  himself.^ 

The  Brothers,^  1800.  —  '  This  poem  was  composed  in 
a  grove  at  the  north-eastern  end  of  Grasmere  Lake,  which 
grove  was  in  a  great  measure  destroyed  by  turning  the 
high  road  along  the  side  of  the  water.  The  few  trees 
that  are  left  were  spared  at  my  intercession.  The  poem 
arose  out  of  the  fact  mentioned  to  me,  at  Ennerdale,  that 
a  shepherd  had  fallen  asleep  upon  the  top  of  the  rock 

»  MSS.  I.  F.  a  Vol.  i.  p.  187. 

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'  LTBICAL   ballads/  163 

called  the  '  pillar,'  and  perished  as  here  described,  his 
staff  being  left  midway  on  the  rock.* 

The  Idle  Shepherd  Boys,^  —  Grasmere,  Town-End, 
1800.  '  I  will  only  add  a  little  monitory  anecdote  con- 
cerning this  subject.  When  Coleridge  and  Southey  were 
walking  together  upon  the  Fells,  Southey  observed  that,  if 
I  wished  to  be  considered  a  faithful  painter  of  rural  man- 
ners, I  ou^t  not  to  have  said  that  my  shepherd  boys 
trimmed  their  rushen  hats  as  described  in  the  poem.  Just 
as  the  words  had  passed  his  lips,  two  boys  appeared  with 
the  very  plant  entwined  round  their  hats.  I  have  often 
wondered  that  Southey,  who  rambled  so  much  about  the 
mountains,  should  have  fallen  into  this  mistake ;  and  I 
record  it  as  a  warning  for  others  who,  with  far  less  oppor- 
tunity than  my  dear  friend  had  of  knowing  what  things 
are,  and  far  less  sagacity,  give  way  to  presumptuous  criti- 
cism, from  which  he  was  free,  though  in  this  matter  mis- 
taken.    In  describing  a  tarn  under  Helvellyn,  I  say, 

'  There  sometimes  doth  a  leaping  fish 
Send  through  the  tarn  a  lonely  cheer.' 

This  was  branded  by  a  critic  of  those  days,  in  a  review 
ascribed  to  Mrs.  Barbauld,  as  unnatural  and  absurd.  I  ad- 
mire the  genius  of  Mrs.  Barbauld,  and  am  certain  that, 
had  her  education  been  favourable  to  imaginative  influ- 
ences, no  female  of  her  day  would  have  been  more  likely 

*  Vol.  i.  p.  161. 

*  [It  was  of  this  poem  that  Coleridge  said,  '  that  model  of  Eng- 
lish pastoral,  which  I  never  yet  read  with  unclouded  eye.'  —  Biog. 
Lit.  Vol.  II.  Chap.  v.  note,  p.  85,  edit,  of  1847.  And  Southey, 
writing  to  Coleridge,  said,  *  God  bless  Wordsworth  for  that  Poem  I  * 
Letter  July  11,  1801,  Life  and  Correspondence  of  Southey,  Vol.  ii. 
p.  150,  Chap.  vm.  —  h.  r.] 

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164  SECOND  VOLUME    OF 

to  sympathize  with  that  image,  and  to  acknowledge  the 
truth  of  the  sentiment.' 

The  Pet  Lamb,^  —  Town-End,  1800.  '  Barbara  Lewth- 
waite,  now  residing  at  Ambleside  (1843),  though  much 
changed  as  to  beauty,  was  one  of  two  most  lovely  sisters. 
Almost  the  first  words  my  poor  brother  John  said,  when  he 
visited  us  at  Grasmere,  were,  "Were  those  two  angels 
that  I  have  just  seen  ?  "  and  from  his  description  I  have 
no  doubt  they  were  those  two  sisters.  The  mother  died  in 
childbed ;  and  one  of  our  neighbours,  at  Grasmere,  told  me 
that  the  loveliest  sight  she  had  ever  seen  was  that  mother 
as  she  lay  in  her  coffin  with  her  dead  babe  in  her  arm.  I 
mention  this  to  notice  what  I  cannot  but  think  a  salutary 
custom,  once  universal  in  these  vales :  every  attendant  on 
a  funeral  made  it  a  duty  to  look  at  the  corpse  in  the  coffin 
before  the  lid  was  closed,  which  was  never  done  (nor  I 
believe  is  now)  till  a  minute  or  two  before  the  corpse  was 
removed.  Barbara  Lewthwaite  was  not,  in  fact,  the  child 
whom  I  had  seen  and  overheard  as  engaged  in  the  poem.  I 
chose  the  name  for  reasons  implied  in  the  above,  and  will 
here  add  a  caution  against  the  use  of  names  of  living  per- 
sons. Within  a  few  months  after  the  publication  of  this 
poem,  I  was  much  surprised,  and  more  hurt,  to  find  it  in  a 
child's  school-book,  which,  having  been  compiled  by  Lind- 
ley  Murray,  had  come  into  use  at  Grasmere  school,  where 
Barbara  was  a  pupil.  And,  alas,  I  had  the  mortification  of 
hearing  that  she  was  very  vain  of  being  thus  distinguished  ; 
and,  in  after  life,  she  used  to  say  that  she  remembered 
the  incident,  and  what  I  said  to  her  upon  the  occasion.' 

Michael,^  —  Town-End,  1 800.  Written  about  the  same 
time  as  '  The  Brothers.'  '  The  sheepfold,  on  which  so 
much  of  the  poem  turns,  remains,  or  rather  the  ruins  of  it. 

'  Vol.  i.  p.  167.  a  Vol.  i.  p.  267. 

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^LYRICAL  BALLADS.^  165 

The  cbamcter  and  circumstances  of  Luke  were  taken 
from  a  family  to  whom  had  belonged,  many  years  before, 
the  house  we  lived  in  at  Town-End,  along  with  some 
fields  and  woodlands  on  the  eastern  shore  of  Grasmere. 
The  name  of  the  Evening  Star  was  not  in  fact  given  to 
this  house,  but  to  another  on  the  same  side  of  the  valley 
more  to  the  north.' 

Naming  of  Places.^  '  It  was  an  April  mom,  &c.'  — 
Grasmere,  1800.  ^  This  poem  was  suggested  on  the 
banks  of  the  brook  that  runs  through  Easedale,  which  is, 
in  some  parts  of  its  course,  as  wide  and  beautiful  as  brook 
can  be.  I  have  composed  thousands  of  verses  by  the  side 
of  it.' 

To  Joanna  Hutchinson.  —  Grasmere,  1800.  '  The  effect 
of  her  laugh  is  an  extravagance,  though  the  effect  of  the 
reverberation  of  voices  in  some  parts  of  these  mountains 
is  very  striking.*  There  is,  in  "  The  Excursion,"  an 
allusion  to  the  bleat  of  a  lamb  thus  re-echoed  and  de- 
scribed, without  any  exaggeration,  as  I  heard  it  on  the 
side  of  Stickle  Tarn,  from  the  precipice  that  stretches  on 
to  Langdale  Pikes.' 

'  There  is  an  eminence,'*  4*c.,  1800.  — '  It  is  not  accurate 
that  the  eminence  here  alluded  to  could  be  seen  from  our 
orchard  seat.  It  arises  above  the  road  by  the  side  of 
Grasmere  Lake,  towards  Keswick,  and  its  name  is  Stone 
Arthur.' 

»Vol.ii.  p.  1,  4,  5-9. 

*  [It  does  not  appear  whether  the  passage  here  alluded  to,  had  a 
purposed  or  an  unconscious  relation  to  a  passage  in  Drayton's 
'  Polyolbion : '  the  doubt  was  suggested  by  Coleridge,  who  spoke  of 
the  part  of  this  poem  as  '  that  noble  imitation  of  Drayton  (if  it 
was  not  rather  a  coincidence.')  —  Biog.  Literaria,  Vol.  ii.  Chap. 
vii.  p.  112.  — H.  K.] 

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166  SECOND  VOLTTME    OF 

Point  Rash  Judgment^  1800.  —  *  The  character  of  the 
eastern  shore  of  Grasmcre  Lake  is  quite  changed  since 
these  verses  were  written,  by  the  public  road  being  carried 
along  its  side.  The  friends  spoken  of  were  Coleridge 
and  my  sister,  and  the  fact  occurred  strictly  as  recorded.' 

To  Mary  Hutchinson,  —  *Two  years  before  our  mar- 
riage.    The  pool  alluded  to  is  in  Rydal  Upper  Park.' 

On  the  29th  August,  1800,  Coleridge  paid  a  visit  to  the 
cottage  at  Grasmere.*     On  the  29th  September,  Captain 

*  [It  was  in  the  summer  of  this  year  that  there  began  the 
acquaintance,  which  ripened  into  friendship,  between  Wordsworth 
and  Charles  Lamb.  It  began  during  a  visit  paid  by  Lamb  to  his 
old  schoolfellow  Coleridge,  at  Stowey.  One  of  Lamb's  undated 
letters  addressed  to  Wordsworth,  is  supposed  to  have  been  written 
not  long  afterwards  ;  it  has  an  interest,  as  showing  Wordsworth's 
choice  of  books  at  the  time,  in  a  commission  given  to  his  London 
friend :  '  The  books  which  you  want,  I  calculate  at  about  £8. 
Ben  Jonson  is  a  guinea  book.  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  in  folio, 
the  right  folio  not  now  to  be  met  with  ;  the  octavos  are  about  £3. 
As  to  any  other  dramatists,  I  do  not  know  where  to  find  them, 
except  what  are  in  Dodsley's  Old  Plays,  which  are  about  £3  also. 
Massinger  I  never  saw  but  at  one  shop,  but  it  is  now  gone ;  but 
one  of  the  editions  of  Dodsley  contains  about  a  fourth  (the  best) 
of  his  plays.  Congreve  and  the  rest  of  King  Charles's  moralists 
are  cheap  and  accessible.  The  works  on  Ireland  I  will  inquire 
after  j  but,  I  fear,  Spenser's  is  not  to  be  had  apart  from  his  poems  -, 
I  never  saw  it.  But  you  may  depend  upon  my  sparing  no  pains 
to  furnish  you  as  complete  a  library  of  old  poets  and  dramatists  as 
will  be  prudent  to  buy  j  for  I  suppose  you  do  not  include  the  £20 
edition  of  Hamlet,  single  play,  which  Eemble  has.  Marlow's 
plays  and  poems  are  totally  vanished ;  only  one  edition  of  Dods- 
ley retains  one,  and  the  other  two  of  his  plays  j  but  John  Ford  is 
the  man  after  Shakspeare.  Let  me  know  your  will  and  pleasure 
soon,  for  I  have  observed,  next  to  the  pleasure  of  buying  a  bargain 
for  one's  self  is  the  pleasure  of  persuading  a  friend  to  buy  it. 
It  tickles  one  with  the  image  of  an  imprudency,  without  the 
penalty  usually  annexed.  —  C.  Lamb.'  —  Talfourd's  Letters  of 
Charles  Lamb,  Vol.  i.  p.  171,  Chap,  v.  — h.  r.] 

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^liYRICAL   BALLAJ>S.'  167 

Wordsworth  left  it.  On  the  30th  September  the  notes 
and  preface  to  the  new  edition  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads  * 
were  written  ;  and  the  two  volumes  appeared  at  the  close 
of  the  year. 

The  feelings  and  aims,  with  which  these  poems  were 
written  and  published,  were  not  obvious  to  the  world,  and 
probably  are  not  even  now  rightly  understood  by  many 
readers.  By  some  persons  the  ^Lyrical  Ballads'  are 
regarded  merely  as  pictures  of  beautiful  nature,  and  a  sim- 
ple state  of  society ;  but  the  design  of  the  Poet  in  the  se- 
lection of  his  subjects,  and  the  ends  for  which  he  laboured 
in  treating  them,  deserve  more  attention  than  they  appear 
generally  to  have  received. 

Under  this  impression  I  will  here  insert  a  letter,  ad- 
dressed by  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  the  Rt.  Hon.  C.  J.  Fox, 
and  sent  to  that  distingui^ed  person  with  a  presentation 
copy  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads  '  in  1801. 

To  the  Right  Hon.  Charles  James  Fox. 

'  Grasmere,  Westnunreland, 
January  Uth,  1801. 
'  Sir, 

'  It  is  not  without  much  difficulty  that  I  have  summoned 
the  cdurage  to  request  your  acceptance  of  these  volumes. 
Should  I  express  my  real  feelings,  I  am  sure  that  I  should 
seem  to  make  a  parade  of  diffidence  and  humility. 

^  Several  of  the  poems  contained  in  these  volumes  are 
written  upon  subjects  which  are  the  common  property  of 
all  poets,  and  which,  at  some  period  of  your  life,  must 
have  been  interesting  to  a  man  of  your  sensibility,  and 
perhaps  may  still  continue  to  be  so.  It  would  be  highly 
gratifying  to  me  to  suppose  that  even  in  a  single  instance 
the  manner  in  which  I  have  treated  these  general  topics 
should  afibrd  you  any  pleasure ;  but  such  a  hope  does  not 

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168  SECOND  VOLUME   OF 

influence  me  upon  the  present  occasion ;  in  truth  I  do  not 
feel  it.  Besides,  I  am  convinced  that  there  must  be  many 
things  in  this  collection  which  may  impress  you  with  an 
unfavourable  idea  of  my  intellectual  powers.  I  do  not 
say  this  with  a  wish  to  degrade  myself,  but  I  am  sensible 
that  this  must  be  the  case,  from  the  different  circles  in 
which  we  have  moved,  and  the  different  objects  with 
which  we  have  been  conversant. 

'Being  utterly  unknown  to  you  as  I  am,  I  am  well 
aware  that  if  I  am  justified  in  writing  to  you  at  all,  it  is 
necessary  my  letter  should  be  short ;  but  I  have  feelings 
within  me,  which  I  hope  will  so  far  show  themselves,  as 
to  excuse  the  trespass  which  I  am  afraid  I  shall  make. 

'  In  common  with  the  whole  of  the  English  people,  I 
have  observed  m  your  public  character  a  constant  pre- 
dominance of  sensibility  of  heart.  Necessitated  as  yoH 
have  been  from  your  public  situation  to  have  much  to  do 
with  men  in  bodies,  and  in  classes,  and  accordingly  to 
contemplate  them  in  that  relation,  it  has  been  your  praise 
that  you  have  not  thereby  been  prevented  from  looking 
upon  them  as  individuals,  and  that  you  have  habitually 
left  your  heart  open  to  be  influenced  by  them  in  that 
capacity.  This  habit  cannot  but  have  made  you  dear  to 
poets ;  and  I  am  sure  that  if,  since  your  first  entrance  into 
public  life,  there  has  been  a  single  true  poet  living  in 
England,  he  must  have  loved  you. 

'  But  were  I  assured  that  I  myself  had  a  just  claim  to 
the  title  of  a  poet,  all  the  dignity  being  attached  to  the 
word  which  belongs  to  it,  I  do  not  think  that  I  should  have 
ventured  for  that  reason  to  offer  these  volumes  to  you ;  at 
present  it  is  solely  on  account  of  two  poems  in  the  second 
volume,  the  one  entitled  "  The  Brothers,"  and  the  other 
^'Michael,"  that  I  have  been  emboldened  to  take  this 
liberty. 

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^LYRICAL   BALLADS.' 

*•  It  appears  to  me  that  the  most  calamitous  effect  which 
has  followed  the  measures  which  have  lately  been  pursued 
in  this  country,  is,  a  rapid  decay  of  the  domestic  affections 
among  the  lower  orders  of  society.  This  effect  the  pres- 
ent rulers  of  this  country  are  not  conscious  of,  or  they 
disregard  it.  For  many  years  past,  the  tendency  of  so- 
ciety, amongst  almost  all  the  nations  of  Europe,  has  been 
to  produce  it ;  but  recently,  by  the  spreading  of  manufac- 
tures through  every  part  of  the  country,  by  the  heavy 
taxes  upon  postage,  by  workhouses,  houses  of  industry, 
and  the  invention  of  soup-shops,  &c.,  superadded  to  the 
increasing  disproportion  between  the  price  of  labour  and 
that  of  the  necessaries  of  life,  the  bonds  of  domestic  feel- 
ing among  the  poor,  as  far  as  the  influence  of  these  things 
has  extended,  have  been  weakened,  and  in  innumerable 
instances  entirely  destroyed.  The  evil  would  be  the  less 
to  be  regretted,  if  these  institutions  were  regarded  only  as 
palliatives  to  a  disease  ;  but  the  vanity  and  pride  of  their 
promoters  are  so  subtly  interwoven  with  them,  that  they 
are  deemed  great  discoveries  and  blessings  to  humanity. 
In  the  meantime,  parents  are  separated  from  their  chil- 
dren, and  children  from  their  parents  ;  the  wife  no  longer 
prepares,  with  her  own  hands,  a  meal  for  her  husband, 
the  pnxiuce  of  his  labour ;  'there  is  little  doing  in  his  house 
in  which  his  affections  can  be  interested,  and  but  little  left 
in  it  that  he  can  love.  I  have  two  neighbours,  a  man  and 
his  wife,  both  upwards  of  eighty  years  of  age.  They  live 
alone.  The  husband  has  been  confined  to  his  bed  many 
months,  and  has  never  had,  nor  till  within  these  few 
weeks  has  ever  needed,  any  body  to  attend  to  him  but  his 
wife.  She  has  recently  been  seized  with  a  lameness 
which  has  often  prevented  her  from  being  able  to  carry 
him  his  food  to  his  bed.  The  neighbours  fetch  water  for 
her  from  the  well,  and  do  other  kind  offices  for  them  both. 

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SECOND  VOLUMB   OF 

But  her  infirmities  increase.  She  told  my  servant  two 
days  ago,  that  she  was  afraid  they  must  both  be  boarded 
out  among  some  other  poor  of  the  parish  (they  have  long 
been  supported  by  the  parish) ;  but  she  said  it  was  hard, 
having  kept  house  together  so  long,  to  come  to  this,  and 
she  was  sure  that  "  it  would  burst  her  heart."  I  mention 
this  fact  to  show  how  deeply  the  spirit  of  independence  is, 
even  yet,  rooted  in  some  parts  of  the  country.  These 
people  could  not  express  themselves  in  this  way  without 
an  almost  sublime  conviction  of  the  blessings  of  indepen* 
dent  domestic  life.  If  it  is  true,  as  I  believe,  that  this 
spirit  is  rapidly  disappearing,  no  greater  curse  can  befall 
a  land. 

'I  earnestly  entreat  your  pardon  for  having  detained 
you  so  long.  In  the  two  poems,  "The  Brothers,"  and 
"  Michael,"  I  have  attempted  to  draw  a  picture  of  the 
domestic  affections,  as  I  know  they  exist  among  a  class 
of  men  who  are  now  almost  confined  to  the  north  of  Eng- 
land. They  are  small  independent  proprietors  of  land, 
here  called  statesmen,  men  of  respectable  education,  who 
daily  labour  on  their  own  little  properties.  The  domestic 
afiections  will  always  be  strong  amongst  men  who  live  in 
a  country  not  crowded  with  population,  if  these  men  are 
placed  above  poverty.  But  if  they  are  proprietors  of 
small  estates,  which  have  descended  to  them  from  their 
ancestors,  the  power  which  these  affections  will  acquire 
amongst  such  men,  is  inconceivable  by  those  who  have 
only  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  hired  labourers, 
farmers,  and  the  manufacturing  poor.  Their  little  tract 
of  land  serves  as  a  kind  of  permanent  rallying  point  for 
their  domestic  feelings,  as  a  tablet  upon  which  they  are 
written,  which  makes  them  objects  of  memory  in  a  thou- 
sand instances,  when  they  would  otherwise  be  forgotten. 
It  is  a  fountain  fitted  to  the  nature  of  social  man,  from 

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'LYHICAL   BALLADS.'  171 

which  supplies  of  affection,  as  pure  as  his  heart  was  in- 
tended for,  are  daily  drawn.  This  class  of  men  is  rapid- 
ly disappearing.  You,  Sir,  have  a  consciousness,  upon 
which  every  good  man  will  congratulate  you,  that  the 
whole  of  your  public  conduct  has,  in  one  way  or  other, 
been  directed  to  the  preservation  of  this  class  of  men,  and 
those  who  hold  similar  situations.  You  have  felt  that  the 
most  sacred  of  all  property  is  the  property  of  the  poor. 
The  two  poems,  which  I  have  mentioned,  were  written 
with  a  view  to  show  that  men  who  do  not  wear  fine  clothes 
can  feel  deeply.  "  Pectus  enim  est  quod  disertos  facit,  et 
vis  mentis.  Ideoque  imperitis  quoque,  si  modo  sint  aliquo 
affectu  concitati,  verba  non  desunt."*  The  poems  are 
faithful  copies  from  nature  ;  and '  I  hope  whatever  effect 
they  may  have  upon  you,  you  will  at  least  be  able  to  per- 
ceive that  they  may  excite  profitable  sympathies  in  many 
kind  and  good  hearts,  and  may  in  some  small  degree  en- 
large our  feelings  of  reverence  for  our  species,  and  our 
knowledge  of  human  nature,  by  showing  that  our  best 
qualities  are  possessed  by  men  whom  we  are  too  apt  to 
consider,  not  with  reference  to  the  points  in  which  they 
resemble  us,  but  to  those  in  which  they  manifestly  differ 
from  us.  I  thought,  at  a  time  when  these  feelings  are 
sapped  in  so  many  ways,  that  the  two  poems  might  co- 
operate, however  feebly,  with  the  illustrious  efforts  which 
you  have  made  to  stem  this  and  other  evils  with  which 
the  country  is  labouring ;  and  it  is  on  this  account  alone 
that  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  thus  addressing  you. 

'  Wishing  earnestly  that  the  time  may  come  when  the 
country  may  perceive  what  it  has  lost  by  neglecting  your 

*  [This  was  also  used  afterwards  as  a  motto  on  one  of  the  title- 
pages  in  the  later  editions  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads.  —  h.  r.] 

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172  SECOND  YOLUMB   OF 

advice,  and  hoping  that  your  latter  days  may  be  attended 
with  health  and  comfort, 

'  I  remain, 
^  With  the  highest  respect  and  admiration, 
'  Your  most  obedient  and  humble  servant, 

'  W,  Wordsworth.' 

Mr.  Fox's  reply  was  as  follows  : 
'Sir, 

'  I  owe  you  many  apologies  for  having  so  long  deferred 
thanking  you  for  your  poems,  and  your  obliging  letter 
accompanying  them,  which  I  received  early  in  March. 
The  poems  have  given  me  the  greatest  pleasure ;  and 
if  I  were  obliged  to  choose  out  of  them,  I  do  not  know 
whether  I  should  not  say  that  '  Harry  Gill,'  *  We  are 
Seven,' '  The  Mad  Mother,'  and  '  The  Idiot'  are  my  favour- 
ites. I  read  with  particular  attention  the  two  you  pointed 
out;  but  whether  it  be  from  early  prepossessions,  or 
whatever  other  cause,  I  am  no  great  friend  to  blank  verse 
for  subjects  which  are  to  be  treated  of  with  simplicity. 
You  will  excuse  my  stating  my  opinion  to  you  so  freely, 
which  I  should  not  do  if  I  did  not  really  admire  many  of 
the  poems  in  the  collection,  and  many  parts  even  of  those 
in  blank  verse.  Of  the  poems  which  you  state  not  to  be 
yours,  that  entitled  '  Love '  appears  to  me  to  be  the  best, 
and  I  do  not  know  who  is  the  author.  '  The  Nightingale ' 
I  understand  to  be  Mr.  Coleridge's,  who  combats,  I  think, 
very  successfully,  the  mistaken  prejudice  of  the  nightin- 
gale's note  being  melancholy.  1  am,  with  great  truth, 
'  Sir,  your  most  obedient  servant, 

(Signed)  '  C.  J.  Fox. 

«  St.  Ann's  Hill,  May  25.  [1801.]' 

In  connection  with  the  above  the  following  observations, 
addressed  by  Wordsworth  to  some  friends,  may  find  a 
place  here. 

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•lyrical  ballads.*  178 

Speaking  of  the  poem  of  the  Leech' Gatherer,^  sent  in 
MS.  he  says : 

'  It  is  not  a  matter  of  indifference  whether  you  are 
pleased  with  his  figure  and  employment,  it  may  be  com- 
paratively whether  you  are  pleased  with  this  Poem  ;  but 
it  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  you  should  have  had 
pleasure  in  contemplating  the  fortitude,  independence, 
persevering  spirit,  and  the  general  moral  dignity  of  this 
old  man's  character.' 

And  again,  on  the  same  poem  : 

'  I  will  explain  to  you,  in  prose,  my  feelings  in  writing 
that  poem.  .  .  I  describe  myself  as  having  been  exalted 
to  the  highest  pitch  of  delight  by  the  joyousness  and 
beauty  of  nature  ;  and  then  as  depressed,  even  in  the 
midst  of  those  beautiful  objects,  to  the  lowest  dejection 
and  despair.  A  young  poet,  in  the  midst  of  the  happiness 
of  nature,  is  described  as  overwhelmed  by  the  thoughts  of 
the  miserable  reverses  which  have  befallen  the  happiest  of 
all  men,  viz.  poets.  I  think  of  this  till  I  am  so  deeply 
impressed  with  it,  that  I  consider  the  manner  in  which  I 
was  rescued  from  my  dejection  and  despair  *  almost  as  an 
interposition  of  Providence.  A  person  reading  the  poem 
with  feelings  like  mine  will  have  been  awed  and  con- 

*  Entitled  '  Resolution  and  Independence.'  Vol.  ii.  p.  124.  See 
below,  p.  191. 

*  [It  is  curious  that  so  genial  a  critic  of  poetry  as  Leigh  Hunt 
should  have  committed  the  unimaginative  error  of  commenting  on 
the  passage  here  alluded  to,  as  if  it  were  intended  for  an  expression 
of  real  opinion,  and  not  of  transient  morbid  feeling.  The  passage 
is  the  stanza  ending 

We  poets  in  our  youth  begin  in  gladness  j 

But  thereof  come  in  the  end  despondency  and  madness. 

See  'The  Indicator,'  by  Leigh  Hunt,  Chap.  xnr.  —  h.  r.] 

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174  SECOND  YOIiiriCE   OF 

trolled,  expecting  something  spiritual  or  supernatural. 
What  is  brought  forward  ?  A  lonely  place,  "  a  pond,  bj 
which  an  old  man  was^  far  from  all  house  or  home :  ^'  not 
Btood^  nor  sat^  but  was  —  the  figure  presented  in  the  most 
naked  simplicity  possible.  This  feeling  of  spirituality  or 
supematuralness  is  again  referred  to  as  being  strong  in 
my  mind  in  this  passage.  How  came  he  here  ^  thought  I, 
or  what  can  he  be  doing  ?  I  then  describe  him,  whether 
ill  or  well  is  not  for  me  to  judge  with  perfect  confidence  ; 
but  this  I  can  confidently  affirm,  that  though  I  believe  God 
has  given  me  a  strong  imagination,  I  cannot  conceive  a 
figure  more  impressive  than  that  of  an  old  man  like  this, 
the  survivor  of  a  wife  and  ten  children,  travelling  alone 
among  the  mountains  and  all  lonely  places,  carrying  with 
him  his  own  fortitude  and  the  necessities  which  an  unjust 
state  of  society  has  laid  upon  him.  You  speak  of  his 
speech  as  tedious.  Every  thing  is  tedious  when  one  does 
not  read  with  the  feelings  of  the  author.  The  Thorn  is 
tedious  to  hundreds  ;  and  so  is  the  Idiot  Boy  to  hundreds. 
It  is  in  the  character  of  the  old  man  to  tell  his  story,  which 
an  impatient  reader  must  feel  tedious.  But,  good  heavens ! 
isuch  a  figure,  in  such  a  place ;  a  pious,  self-respecting, 
miserably  infirm  and  pleased  old  man  telling  such  a  tale ! ' 
*  Your  feelings  upon  the  "  Mother  and  the  Boy,  with  the 
Butterfly,"  were  not  indifferent :  it  was  an  affair  of  whole 
continents  of  moral  sympathy. 

'  I  am  for  the  most  part  uncertain  about  my  success  in 
altering  poems  ;  but  in  this  case,'  speaking  of  an  insertion, 
*  I  am  sure  I  have  produced  a  great  improvement.' 

Such  is  a  specimen  of  an  authentic  report  of  the  in- 
ward feelings  with  which  these  poems  were  composed. 
The  author,  it  is  clear,  who  wrote  them,  was  not  to  be 

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^LTBICAL  ballads/  175 

disturbed  by  the  opinions  pronounced  on  them  by  the 
world,  especially  as  those  opinions  were  remarkaby  incon- 
sistent with  each  other ;  of  which  he  gives  the  following 
amusing  evidence  at  the  close  of  a  note  sent  by  the 
waggon  (Benjamin's  waggon),  which  served  as  a  post- 
mail,  to  his  friend  Coleridge,  at  Keswick. 

'Harmonies  of  Criticism. 

'<  Nutting."  ''Nutting.'' 

Mr.C.W.:  Mr.  S.: 

"  Worth  its  weight  in  gold.'  "  Can  make  neither  head  nor 
tail  of  it." 

"  Joanna."  "  Joanna." 

Mr.  J.W.:  Mr.  S.: 

"  The    finest   Poem    of  its        "  Can  make  nothing  of  it." 
length  you  have  written." 

"  Poefs  Epitaph."  "  Poet's  Epitaph." 

Mr.  Charles  Lamb  :  Mr.  S.  : 

"  The    latter  part   pre-emi-  "  The  latter  part  very  ill  writ- 

nently  good  and  your  own."  ten." 

"Cumberland  Beggar."  ''Cumberland  Beggar." 

Mr.  J.  W. :  Mr.  Charles  Lamb  :  * 

"  Everybody  seems  delighted."  "You  seem  to  presume  your 
readers  are  stupid:  the  instruc- 
tions too  direct." 

"  Idiot  Boy."  "Idiot  Boy." 

Mr.  J.  W. :  Mr.  S. : 

"  A  lady,  a  friend  of  mine,  "  Almost  thrown  by  it  into  a  fit 

could  talk  of  nothing  else  :  this,  with  disgust :  cannot  read  it ! " 
of  all  the  poems,  her  delight." 

'  But  here  comes  the  waggon.  W.  W.' 

♦  [The  two  extracts  given  here  are  firom  a  letter  full  of  charac- 
teristic criticism,  which  will  be  found  in  the  '  Final  Memorials  of 
Charles  Lamb,*  —  Chap.  iv.  —  h.  r.] 

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176  SECOND  VOLUME   OF 

Another  edition  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads '  was  published 
in  1802.  Two  of  the  poems,  printed  in  the  former 
editions,  do  not  appear  in  this,  viz.,  *  The  Dungeon,'  and 
*A  Character.'  A  new  edition  followed  in  1805.  All 
these  editions  are  in  12mo.* 

*  [The  first  volume  of  the  original  edition  of  the  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads had  contained  a  short  preface  on  the  character  of  the  poems, 
'  considered  as  experiments  ; '  but  it  was  the  second  edition  which 
presented  the  first  of  those  extended  prose  essays  upon  the  prin- 
ciples of  poetry  in  general,  which,  though  composed  for  a  tem- 
porary purpose,  have  preserved  a  permanent  value  by  the  fine 
philosophy  contained  in  them.  It  is  these  essays  which  Mr.  Henry 
Taylor,  in  the  notes  to  his  '  Philip  Van  Artevelde,'  speaks  of  as 
'  those  admirable  specimens  of  philosophical  criticism.'  In  the 
later  editions  of  the  poems,  these  essays  are  an*anged  in  an  appen- 
dix. 

The  first  American  edition  of  Wordsworth's  poems  was  an  edi- 
tion of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,  in  two  volumes,  12mo,  published  at 
Philadelphia  in  1802,  by  James  Humphreys.  It  appears  to  have 
been  published  by  subscription,  and  to  have  been  printed  partly 
from  the  first  and  partly  from  the  second  London  edition.  The 
Author  never  saw  a  copy  of  the  early  American  edition  of  his 
first  poems  until  1839,'  when  a  copy  was  forwarded  to  him  by  a 
friend  in  Philadelphia. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  addressed  to  me,  and  dated 
'  Washington,  February  9, 1839,'  is  valuable  as  a  thoughtful  remi- 
niscence of  the  first  impressions  respecting  Wordsworth's  poetry 
in  this  country : 

'  *  *  I  remember  when  some  of  Wordsworth's  earliest  poems 
(small  pieces)  appeared.  They  were  so  simple  in  their  dress,  so 
humble  in  their  topics,  so  opposite  to  the  pomp  and  strut  of  what 
had  been  the  poetry  of  the  times  immediately  preceding,  that  they 
were  a  good  deal  of  a  puzzle.  Yet,  it  was  manifest,  even  then, 
that  they  touched  a  kindred  chord  in  the  heart ;  and  I  remember  a 
conversation  about  them  in  the  first  four  or  five  years  of  the  pres- 
ent century,  in  which  their  power  was  acknowledged.  But  what 
I  meant  to  remark  was,  that  looking  back  to  the  time  when 
Jeffrey  launched  his  savage  wit  at  Mr.  Wordsworth,  with  what  he 

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•    'LTBICAL   BALLADS.'  177 

intended  to  be  a  deadly  aim,  and  comparing  tht  reputation  of  the 
identical  poetry  then,  with  what  it  now  is,  there  is  manifestly  a 
growing  power  in  it,  which  if  it  continue  for  some  years  longer  at 
the  same  rate,  will  make  that  reputation  colossal.  Jeffrey  has 
none  of  the  spirit  of  poetry  in  him  —  not  the  least.  He  has  a 
smart,  lively,  reckless  and  heartless  wit,  which  has  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  But  he  could  not  comprehend  the  depth  of  Byron, 
immoral  and  dissolute  as  it  was.  Still  less  can  he  feel  the  affinity 
of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  spirit  with  all  that  is  good,  and  tender  and 
kind  in  our  nature,  or  seek  with  him  the  remnant  of  God's  image 
in  our  fallen  condition.  He  is  what  we  call  a  'smart  fellow.' 
His  pretensions  have  in  nothing  been  sustained.  His  appearance 
in  the  House  of  Lords  as  an  advocate  in  a  Scotch  appeal,  in  1817, 
was  a  total  failure.  So  was  his ''effort  in  the  House  of  Commons 
within  a  few  years  past.  His  success  has  been  chiefly  owing  to 
the  daring  application  of  the  motto  of  his  review  —  I  should  rather 
say,  the  inhuman  perversion  of  it.  Letting  him  pass,  however, 
as  not  worthy  to  be  named  in  the  same  page  with  Mr.  Wordsworth, 
I  am  exceedingly  pleased  with  the  article,  which  is  pure  in  its 
doctrine  and  refreshing  because  it  is  pure,  deeply  and  well-medi- 
tated, and  the  workmanship  highly  creditable.' 

It  will  not  lessen  the  authority  of  this  reminiscence  —  that  the 
writer's  name  ha^  its  distinction  not  in  literature  but  by  his  career 
as  a  lawyer  and  a  statesman ;  it  was  written  by  the  Hon.  John 
Sergeant,  then  the  representative  of  Philadelphia  in  Congress. 
The  article  alluded  to  was  one  on  Wordsworth,  in  the  '  New  York 
Review,'  Vol.  iv.,  January,  1839,  which  classed  Wordsworth  along 
with  Chaucer,  Spenser,  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  as  one  of  the  five 
poets  of  the  highest  order  whom  five  centuries  of  English  poetry 
have  produced.  —  h.  b.] 


12 


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CHAPTER    XVIII. 

RESIDENCE  AT  6RASMERE.  —  SHORT    VISIT   TO    FRANCE. 

Day  after  day  passed  on  at  the  cottage,  Grasmere,  with 
little  variation,  except  what  was  derived  from  seeing  new 
scenes  and  composing  new  poems.  The  following  brief 
notes,  extracted  from  a  diary  kept  by  Miss  Wordsworth, 
may  serve  to  give  a  correct  idea  of  the  life  there.  This 
journal  is  full  of  vivid  descriptions  of  natural  beauty,  as 
observed  at  Grasmere. 

In  perusing  these  extracts  the  reader  will  observe  no- 
tices of  the  occasions,  on  which  several  of  Mr.  Words- 
worth's poems  were  composed. 

^Friday,  October  3,  1800.  —  Very  rainy  all  the  morn- 
ing. William  walked  to  Ambleside  after  dinner  ;  I  went 
with  him  part  of  the  way. 

*When  William  and  I  returned  from  accompanying 
Jones,  we  met  an  old  man  almost  double.  His  face  was 
interesting.  He  was  of  Scotch  parents,  but  had  been 
born  in  the  army.  He  had  had  a  wife,  '*  a  good  woman, 
and  it  pleased  God  to  bless  us  with  ten  children ; "  all 
these  were  dead  but  one,  of  whom  he  had  not  heard  for 
many  years,  a  sailor.  His  trade  was  to  gather  leeches, 
but  now  leeches  were  scarce,  and  he  had  not  strength  for 
it.  He  had  been  hurt  in  driving  a  cart,  his  leg  broke,  his 
body  driven  over,  his  skull  fractured ;  he  felt  no  pain  till 
he  recovered  from  his  first  insensibility.  It  was  then  late 
in  the  evening  when  the  light  was  just  going  away.' 

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RESIDENCE  AT   GRASMERE.  170 

"-Oct.  10,  1801.  — Coleridge  went  to  Keswick.  — 11. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sympson  came  in  after  te?i  and  supped 
with  us. 

[This  Mr.  Sympson  was  the  clergyman  of  Wytheburn, 
a  very  interesting  person.  His  character  is  drawn  in  the 
description  of  the  graves  of  the  Churchyard  among  the 
Mountains,  in  *  The  Excursion.'  ^] 

'-Oct.  24.  — Went  to  Greenhead  Ghyll,  and  the  Sheep' 
fold.     [Described  in  '  Michael.'] 

^Nov.  6.  —  Coleridge  came. 

'  Nov,  9.  —  Walked  with  Coleridge  to  Keswick. 

'Nov.  18.  —  William  walked  to  Rydal.  .  .  .  The  lake 
of  Grasmere  beautiful.     The  church  an  image  of  peace ; 

*  The  following*  note  concerning  one  of  this  family  is  from  Mr. 
Wordsworth's  pen  (vol.  iii.  p.  252). 

'  "  There  bloomed  the  strawberry  of  the  wilderness, 
The  trembling  eyebright  showed  her  sapphire  blue." 

'  These  two  lines  are  in  a  great  measure  taken  from  **  The 
Beauties  o§  Spring,  a  Juvenile  Poem,"  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Sympson. 
He  was  a  native  of  Cumberland,  and  was  educated  in  the  vale  of 
Grasmere,  and  at  Hawkshead  school.  His  poems  are  little  knowny 
but  they  contain  passages  of  splendid  description ;  and  the  versi- 
fication of  his  **  Vision  of  Alfred  "  is  harmonious  and  animated. 
In  describing  the  motions  of  the  sylphs,  that  constitute  the  strange 
machinery  of  his  Poem,  he  uses  the  following  illustrative  simile : 

"  Glancing  from  their  plumes, 
A  changeful  light  the  azure  vault  illumes. 
Less  varying  hues  beneath  the  Pole  adorn 
The  streamy  glories  of  the'  Boreal  mom, 
That  wavering  to  and  fro  their  radiance  shed 
On  Bothnia's  gulf  with  glassy  ice  o'erspread,"  &c.  &c. 

'  He  was  a  man  of  ardent  feeling,  and  his  faculties  of  mind, 
particularly  his  memory,  were  extraordinary.  Brief  notices  of 
his  life  ought  to  find  a  place  In  the  History  of  Westmoreland.' 

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180  SESIDBKCB   AT   GRASMEIE.     ^ 

he  wrote  some  lines  upon  it.  .  .  .  The  mountains  indis- 
tinct ;  the  lake  calm,  and  partly  ruffled ;  a  sweet  sound  of 
water  falling  into  the  quiet  lake.  A  storm  gathering  in 
Easedale ;  so  we  returned ;  but  the  moon  came  out,  and 
opened  to  us  the  church  and  village.  Helm  Crag  in 
shade ;  the  larger  mountains  dappled  like  a  sky. 

*  Nov.  24.  —  Read  Chaucer.  We  walked  by  Gell's  cot- 
tage.' As  we  were  going  along  we  were  stopped  at  once, 
at  the  distance  perhaps  of  fifty  yards,  from  our  favourite 
birch  tree :  it  was  yielding  to  the  gust  of  wind,  with  all 
its  tender  twigs ;  the  sun  shone  upon  it,  and  it  glanced  in 
the  wind  like  a  flying  sunshiny  shower :  it  was  a  tree  in 
shape,  with  stem  and  branches,  but  it  was  like  a  spirit  of 
water.  .  .  .  After  our  return  William  read  Spenser  to  us, 
and  then  walked  to  John's  grove.     Went  to  meet  W. 

^Jan,  31,  1802.  —  We  walked  round  the  two  lakes, 
Grasmere  and  Rydal.  .  .  When  I  came  with  William, 
six  and  a  half  years  ago,  it  was  just  at  sunset,  there  was 
a  rich  yellow  light  on  the  waters,  and  the  islands  were 
reflected  there ;  to-day  it  was  grave  and  soft.  The  sun 
shone  out  before  we  reached  Grasmere.  We  sat  by  the 
road-side,  at  the  foot  of  the  lake  close  by  M.'s  name. 
William  cut  it  to  make  it  plainer.  .  .  . 

*  Feb,  5.  —  William  came  with  two  affecting  letters  from 
Coleridge,  resolved  to  try  another  climate Trans- 
lated two  or  three  of  Lessing's  fables.  At  this  time 
William  hard  at  work  on  The  Pedlar,^ 

^Feh.  16.  —  Mr.  Grahame  called ;  said  he  wished  Wil- 
liam had  been  with  him  the  other  day.  He  was  riding  in 
a  post-chaise ;  heard  a  strange  cry  ;  called  to  the  chaise- 
driver  to  stop.     It  was  a  little  girl  crying  as  if  her  heart 

>  Sir  W.  GelPs. 

>  The  original  name  of  *  The  Excursion.' 

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%     RESIDENCE  AT  6EASMERE.  181 

would  burst.  She  had  got  up  behind  the  chaise,  and  her 
cloak  had  been  caught  by  the  wheel :  she  was  crying  after 
it.  Mr.  G.  took  her  into  the  chaise,  and  the  cloak  was  re- 
leased, but  it  was  torn  to  rags.  It  had  been  a  miserable 
cloak  before  ;  but  she  had  no  other,  and  this  was  the  greatest 
sorrow  that  could  befall  her.  Her  name  was  Alice  FeU, 
At  the  next  town  Mr.  G.  left  money  to  buy  her  a  new  cloak. 

*  Feb.  19.  —  After  tea  I  wrote  out  the  first  part  of  Peter 
Bell. 

'  Marchy  Wednesday,  —  W.  reading  Ben  Jonson. 
'  Thursday. — W.  writing  the   Singing  Bird,  or  the 
Sailor^s  Mother,     Mr.  Clarkson  came. 

*  Friday. — Read  the  remainder  of  Lessing.  W,  wrote 
Alice  Fell, 

*  Saturday,  —  W.  wrote  the  poem  of  the  Beggar  Wo" 
man,  taken  from  a  woman  whom  I  had  seen  nearly  two 
years  ago,  when  he  was  absent  at  Gallow  Hill,  and  had 
thus  described :  "  On  Tuesday,  May  27th,  a  very  tall 
woman  called  at  the  door ;  she  had  on  a  very  long  brown 
cloak,  and  a  very  white  cap  without  bonnet ;  she  led  a 
little  bare-footed  child  about  two  years  old  by  the  hand, 
and  said  her  husband  was  gone  before  with  the  other 
children.  I  gave  her  a  piece  of  bread.  Afterwards,  on 
my  road  to  Ambleside,  beside  the  bridge  at  Bydal,  I  saw 
her  husband  sitting  by  the  road-side,  his  two  asses  stand- 
ing beside  him,  and  the  two  young  children  at  play  upon 
the  grass.  The  man  did  not  beg.  I  passed  on;  and 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  further  I  saw  two  boys  before 
me,  one  about  ten,  the  other  about  eight  years  old,  at  play, 
chasing  a  butterfly.  They  were  wild  figures :  the  hat  of 
the  elder  was  wreathed  round  with  yellow  flowers;  the 
younger,  whose  hat  was  only  a  rimless  crown,  had  stuck 
it  round  with  laurel  leaves.  They  continued  at  play  till  I 
drew  very  near,  and  then  they  addressed  me  with  the 

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182  KESIDENCB  AT  GRASMERK.      • 

begging  cant  and  the  whining  voice  of  sorrow.  I  said, 
*  I  served  your  mother  this  morning,*  (the  boys  were  so 
Hke  the  woman  who  had  called  at  our  door  that  I  could 
not  be  mistaken,)  *0,'  says  the  elder,  'you  could  not 
serve  my  mother,  for  she's  dead,  and  my  father's  on  at 
the  next  town :  he's  a  potter.'  I  persisted  in  my  assertion, 
and  that  I  would  give  them  nothing.  Says  the  elder, 
*Come,  let's  away,'  and  away  they  flew  like  lightning. 
They  had,  however,  sauntered  so  long  in  their  road  that 
they  did  not  reach  Ambleside  before  me,  and  I  saw  them 
go  up  to  Matthew  Harrison's  house  with  their  wallet  upon 
the  elder's  shoulder,  and  creeping  with  a  beggar's  com- 
plaining foot.  On  my  return  from  Ambleside  I  met,  in 
the  street,  the  mother  driving  her  asses,  in  the  two  pan- 
niers on  one  of  which  were  the  two  little  children,  whom 
she  was  chiding  and  threatening  with  a  wand  which  she 
used  to  drive  on  her  asses,  while  the  little  things  hung  in 
wantonness  over  the  pannier's  edge.  The  woman  had 
told  me  in  the  morning  that  she  was  of  Scotland,  which 
her  accent  fully  proved,  and  that  she  had  lived  (I  think) 
at  Wigtown  ;  that  they  could  not  keep  a  house,  and  so 
they  travelled." ' 

This  poem,  the  Beggars^  presents  a  remarkable  illus- 
tration of  the  fact  that  the  sister's  eye  was  ever  on  the 
watch  to  provide  for  the  brother's  pen.  He  had  a  most 
observant  eye  ;  and  she  also  saw  for  him :  and  his  poems 
are  sometimes  little  more  than  poetical  versions  of  her 
descriptions  of  the  objects  which  she  had  seen  ;  and  he 
treated  them  as  seen  by  himself. 

'  After  tea  I  read  W.  the  account  I  had  written  of  the 
little  boy  belonging  to  the  tall  woman :  and  an  unlucky 
thing  it  was,  for  he  could  not  escape  from  those  very 
words. 

*  Next  morning  at  breakfast  he  wrote  the  poem  To  a 

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'     SESIJ>ENC£  AT   GBASMKBB.  183 

Butterfly :  the  thought  came  upon  him  as  we  wete  talking 
about  the  pleasure  we  both  always  felt  at  the  sight  of 
a  butterfly.  I  told  him  that  I  used  in  my  childhood  to 
chase  them,  but  was  afraid  of  brushing  the  dust  off  their 
wings, 

'  Tuesday,  —  W.  went  to  the  orchard  and  wrote  a  part 
of  the  Emigrant  Mother.     Afler  dinner  read  Spenser. 

*  March  26.  —  W.  altered  the  Silver  How  poem :  wrote 
the  Rainbow* 

'  March  28.  —  Went  to  Keswick.  — •  30.  To  Calvert's. 

^  April  1.  —  W.  to  Vale  of  Newlands,  Borrowdale, 
back  to  Keswick  :  soft  Venetian  view.  Calvert  and  Wil- 
kinsons  dined  with  us. 

*  April  7.  —  W.  went  to  Middleham. 

*  April  12.  —  To-day  W.  (as  I  fopnd  the  next  day)  was 
riding  between  Middleham  and  Barnard  Castle.' 

Concerning  this  ride,  Wordsworth  writes  to  Coleridge : 

*I  parted  from  M on  Monday  afternoon,  about  six 

o'clock,  a  little  on  this  side  Rushy  ford.  Soon  after  I 
missed  my  road  in  the  midst  of  the  storm.  .  .  Between 
the  beginning  of  Lord  Darlington's  park  at  Raby,  and  two 
or  three  miles  beyond  Staindrop,  I  composed  the  poem  on 
the  opposite  page.^  I  reached  Barnard  Castle  about  half 
past  ten.  Between  eight  and  nine  next  evening  I  reached 
Eusemere.' 

Miss  Wordsworth  thus  proceeds : 

*  April  13.  —  William  returned. 

^  April  15.  —  We  set  off  after  dinner  from  Eusemere, 
Mr.  Clarkson's  :  wind  furious :  .  .  .  Lake  (Ullswater) 
rough. 

*  '  The  Glowworm.' 

*  [This  is  the  piece  beginning  'JWy  heart  leaps  up,  etc./  spoken 
of  further  on  in  this  chapter  j  the  title  here  used  was  never  given 
to  it  among  the  poems.  —  h.  b.]  . .  . 

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184  EE8IDSNGB  At  GBASMKRE. 

*  When  we  were  in  the  woods  below  Gowbarrow  Park, 
we  saw  a  few  daffodils  close  to  the  water*side.  .  .  As 
we  went  along,  there  were  more  and  yet  more ;  and  at 
last,  under  the  boughs  of  the  trees,  we  saw  there  was  a 
long  belt  of  them  along  the  shore.  I  never  saw  daffodils 
so  beautiful.  They  grew  among  the  mossy  stones  about 
them :  some  rested  their  heads  on  these  stones  as  on  a 
pillow ; .  the  rest  tossed,  and  reeled,  and  danced,  and 
seemed  as  if  they  verily  laughed  with  the  wind,  they 
looked  so  gay  and  glancing.  ^ 

>  See  the  Poem  (vol.  ii.  p.  103)  ; 

'  I  w&NDEKED  lonely  as  a  cloud 
That  floats  on  high  o'er  vales  and  hills, 
When  all  at  once  I  saw  a  crowd, 
A  host,  of  golden  daffodils  / 
Beside  the  lake,  beneath  the  trees. 
Fluttering  and  dancing  in  the  breeze, 

<  Continuous  as  the  stars  that  shine 
And  twinkle  on  the  milky  way. 
They  stretched  in  never-ending  line 
Along  the  margin  of  a  bay  : 
Ten  thousand  saw  I  at  a  glance. 
Tossing  their  heads  in  sprightly  dance. 

'  The  waves  beside  them  danced )  but  they 
Out-did  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee  : 
A  poet  could  not  but  be  gay. 
In  such  a  jocund  company  : 
I  gazed  — and  gazed  — but  little  thought 
What  wealth  the  show  to  me  had  brought  ; 

'  For  oft,  when  on  my  couch  I  lie 
In  vacant  or  in  pensive  mood. 
They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude  ; 
And  then  my  heart  with  pleasure  fills, 
And  dances  with  the  daffodils.' 


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BESIDENGB  AT   GBASMERE.  185 

In  reference  to  the  poem  of  the  *  Daffodils,'  Wordsworth 

wrote  as   follows,  some  time  afterwards,  to  his  friend 

Wrangham : 

'Grasmere,  Nov.  4. 
'  My  dear  Wrangham, 

'  I  am  indeed  much  pleased  that  Mrs.  Wrangham  and 
yourself  have  been  gratified  by  these  breathings  of  simple 
nature  ;  the  more  so,  because  I  conclude  from  the  charac- 
ter of  the  Poems  which  you  have  particularized  that  the 
Volumes  cannot  but  improve  upon  you.  I  see  that  you 
have  entered  into  the  spirit  of  them.  You  mention  the 
Daffodils,*  You  know  Butler,  Montagu's  friend ;  not 
Tom  Butler,  but  the  Conveyancer :  when  I  was  in  town  in 
spring  he  happened  to  see  the  volumes  lying  on  Mon- 
tagu's mantel-piece,  and  to  glance  his  eye  upon  the  very 
poem  of  the  "  Daffodils."  "  Aye,"  says  he,  "  a  fine 
morsel  this  for  the  Reviewers."  When  this  was  told  me 
(for  I  was  not  present),  I  observed  that  there  were  'two 
lines  in  that  little  poem  which,  if  thoroughly  felt,  would 
annihilate  nine-tenths  of  the  reviews  of  the  kingdom,  as 
they  would  find  no  readers ;  the  lines  I  alluded  to  were 
these : 

*  They  flash  upon  that  inward  eye 
Which  is  the  bliss  of  solitude.*  * 

*  These  two  lines  were  written  by  Mrs.  Wordsworth.  See 
below,  p.  190.  The  Poem  is  entitled,  '  I  wandered  lonely  as  a 
Cloud  *  (vol.  ii.  p.  103),  quoted  above. 

*  [The  second  stanza  was  added  in  the  edition  of  miscellaneous 
poems  in  1815,  and  the  following  note  attached  to  the  poem,  it 
being  there  placed  among  '  Poems  of  the  Imagination : ' 

*  The  subject  of  these  stanzas  is  rather  an  elementary  feeling 
and  simple  impression  (approaching  to  the  nature  of  an  ocular 
spectrum)  upon  the  imaginative  faculty,  than  an  exertion  of  it.' 
Poems,  edit,  of  1815,  Vol.  i.  p.  329.  — h.  k.] 

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186  RESIDENCE  AT   6RASMBRE. 

But  to  return  to  Miss  Wordsworth's  diary. 

'  April  16.  —  The  sun  shone  ;  the  wind  had  passed 
away ;  the  hills  looked  cheerful.  .  .  .  When  we  came  to 
the  foot  of  Brother'^ s  Water ^  left  W.  sitting  on  the  Bridge. 
I  went  along  the  path  on  the  right  side  of  the  lake: 
delighted  with  what  I  saw :  the  bare  old  trees,  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  mountains,  and  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
path  .  .  .  there  was  one  grey  cottage  .  .  .  Repeated  the 
GlovDworm^  as  I  went  along.  When  I  returned,  found 
W.  writing  a  poem  2  descriptive  of  the  sights  and  sounds 

•  *  J.  c.  a  Poem  beginning, 

'  Among  all  lovely  things  my  love  had  been/ 

on  which  Mr.  Wordsworth  records,  in  a  letter  to  Coleridge,  writtea 
April,  1802,  '  The  incident  of  this  poem  took  place  about  seven 
years  ago  between  my  sister  and  me.'     The  poem  was  written  ia 
the  spring  of  1802  * 
2  This  effusion  is  entitled  thus  : 

*  WRITTEN  IN  MARCH, 

•  WHILE    RESTING   ON    THE   BRIDGE   AT   THE  FOOT    OF 
brother's   WATER. 

'  The  cock  is  crowing. 
The  stream  is  flowing. 
The  small  birds  twitter. 
The  lake  doth  glitter. 
The  green  field  sleeps  in  the  sun,' 

&c.  &c.  (Vol.  ii.  p.  109.) 

*  [This  little  poem,  called  the  Glowworm,  consisting  of  five 
stanzas.  Was  printed  in  the  edition  of  Poems  in  1807,  but  appears 
to  have  been  withheld  from  all  the  later  editions  —  doubtless 
because  it  was  one  of  the  instances,  in  which,  as  he  says  in  one 
of  the  Prefatory  Essays,  the  Poet  was  sensible  that  his  associations 
must  have  sometimes  been  particular  instead  of  general.  The 
piece  is  an  expression  of  pleasure  in  showing  liis  sister  a  glow- 
worm for  the  first  time.  —  h.  r] 

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RBSIDENCS  AT  6BASMEBB.  187 

we  saw  and  heard.  There  was  the  gentle  flowing  of  the 
stream,  the  glittering  lake,  a  flat  pasture  with  forty-two 
cattle  feeding ;  to  our  leA,  the  road  leading  to  the  haplet ; 
no  smoke  there,  the  sun  shining  on  the  bare  roofs :  the 
people  at. work,  ploughing,  harrowing,  sowing;  cocks 
crowing,  birds  twittering ;  the  snow  in  patches  at  the  top 
of  the  highest  hills.  .  .  W.  finished  his  verses  before  we 
got  to  the  foot  of  Kirkstone.  Dined  on  Kirkstone.  The 
view  above  Ambleside  very  beautiful ;  there  we  sat,  and 
looked  down  on  the  vale.  Rydal  Lake  was  in  evening 
stillness.  .  .  Our  garden  at  Grasmere  very  pretty  in  the 
half  moonlight  half  daylight. 

'  Tuesday^  April  20.  —  W.  wrote  conclusion  to  the 
Poem  to  a  Butterfly^  "  I've  watched  you,"  &c.  Coleridge 
came. 

^  Wednesday^  April  2'^.  —  Copied  the  Prioress^  Tale, 
W.  in  the  orchard  —  tired.  1  happened  to  say  that  when 
a  child  I  would  not  have  pulled  a  strawberry  blossom: 
left  him,  and  wrote  out  the  Manciple's  tale.  At  din- 
ner he  came  in  with  the  poem  on  Children  gathering 
Flowers.^ 

'  April  30.  —  We  went  into  the  orchard  after  breakfast, 
and  sat  there.  The  lake  calm,  sky  cloudy.  W.  began 
poem  on  the  Celandine, 

'  May  1 .  —  Sowed  flower  seeds ;  W.  helped  me.  We 
sat  in  the  orchard.  W.  wrote  the  Celandine,  Planned 
an  arbour :  the  sun  too  hot  for  us. 

'  May  7.  —  W.  wrote  the  Leech-  Gatherer,^ 

^  May  21.  —  W.  wrote  two  sonnets  on  Budnaparte^ 
after  I  had  read  Milton's  Sonnets  to  him. 

'  May  29.  —  W.  wrote  his  Poem  on  going  to  M.  H.  I 
wrote  it  out. 

>  The  Poem  entitled  '  Foresight/  vol.  i.  p.  149. 
«  See  above,  p.  173. 

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188  EESIDENCB  AT  GSASMESB. 

'  June  8.  —  W.  wrote  the  poem  "  The  Sun  has  long  been 
set.'' 

'  June  17.  —  W.  added  to  the  Ode  ^  he  is  writing. 

'  June  19.  —  Read  Churchill's  Rosciad. 

'  July  9.  —  W.  and  I  set  forth  to  Keswick  on  our  road 
to  Gallow  Hill  (to  the  Hutchinsons,  near  Malton,  York). 
On  Monday,  11th,  went  to  Eusemere  (the  Clarksons). 
13th,  walked  to  Emont  Bridge,  thence  by  Greta  Bridge. 
The  sun  shone  cheerfully,  and  a  glorious  ride  we  had  over 
the  moors;  every  building  bathed  in  golden  light:  we 
saw  round  us  miles  beyond  miles,  Darlington  spire,  &c. 
Thence  to  Thirsk;  on  foot  to  the  Hamilton  Hills  —  Bi- 
vaux.  I  went  down  to  look  at  the  ruins :  thrushes  sing- 
ing, cattle  feeding  among  the  ruins  of  the  Abbey ;  groen 
hillocks  about  the  ruins ;  these  hillocks  scattered  over  with 
grovelets  of  wild  roses,  and  covered  with  wild  flowers.  I 
could  have  stayed  in  this  solemn  quiet  spot  till  evening 
without  a  thought  of  moving,  but  W.  was  waiting  for  me. 
Reached  Hemsley  at  dusk  :  beautiful  view  of  castle  from 
top  of  the  hill.  —  Friday,  walked  to  Kirby ;  arrived  at 
Gallow  Hill  at  seven  o'clock.'  They  remained  there  till 
26th  July;  then  set  off  southward  by  Beverley,  Hull, 
Lincoln,  Peterborough,  to  London. 

'  July  30.  —  Left  London  between  five  and  six  o'clock 
of  the  morning  outside  the  Dover  coach.  A  beautiful 
morning.  The  city,  St.  Paul's,  with  the  river  —  a  multi- 
tude of  little  boats,  made  a  beautiful  sight  as  we  crossed 
Westminster  Bridge ;  ^  the  houses  not  overhung  by  their 
clouds  of  smoke,  and  were  spread  out  endlessly  ;  yet  the 


*  '  On  Intimations  of  Immortality  from  Recollections  of  Child- 
hood,' vol.  V.  p.  148. 

«  The  Sonnet  on  Westminster  Bridge  was  then  written,  on  the 
roof  of  the  Dover  coach  (vol.  i.  p.  296). 


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SHOET  VISIT  TO  FRANCE,  AND  RETURN.      189 

sun  shone  so  brightly,  with  such  a  pure  light,  that  there 
was  something  like  the  purity  of  one  of  Nature's  own 
grand  spectacles  ',  .  .  Arrived  at  Calais  at  four  in  the 
morning  of  July  31st. 

*  Delightful  walks  in  the  evenings  ;  seeing  far  off  in  the 
west  the  coast  of  England,  like  a  cloud,  crested  with 
Dover  Castle,  the  evening  star,  and  the  glory  of  the  sky ; 
the  reflections  in  the  water  were  more  beautiful  than  the 
sky  itself ;  purple  waves  brighter  than  precious  stones  for 
ever  melting  away  upon  the  sands. 

*  On  the  29th  Aug.  left  Calais  at  twelve  in  the  morning 
for  Dover  .  .  .  bathed,  and  sat  on  the  Dover  cliffs,  and 
looked  upon  France ;  we  could  see  the  shores  almost  as 
plain  as  if  it  were  but  an  English  lake.  Mounted  the 
coach  at  half-past  four ;  arrived  in  London  at  six.  —  30th 
Aug.  Stayed  in  London  till  22d  September ;  arrived  at 
Gallow  Hill  on  Friday,  Sept.  24. 

*  On  Monday,  Oct.  4,  1802,  W.  was  married  at  Bromp- 
ton  Church,  to  Mary  Hutchinson  .  .  .  We  arrived  at 
Grasmere  at  six  in  the  evening,  on  Oct.  6,  1802.' 

These  brief  notes  from  Miss  Wordsworth's  pen  will 
give  a  general  idea  of  the  manner  in  which  the  daily  life 
of  the  Poet  and  his  sister,  and  of  her  who  now  was  one 
with  him  in  heart  and  soul,  ministered  occasions  for  poeti- 
cal composition,  and  was  invested  with  poetic  interest  and 
beauty. 

The  references  to  the  pOems  composed  at  this  period  will 
be  obvious  to  the  reader,  and  they  may  be  further  illus- 
trated by  particulars  derived  from  the  Poet  himself. * 

Reverting  then  to  some  of  the  poems  as  mentioned  in 
this  chapter,  we  may  specify,  first, 

Alice  Fell'^  —  '  Written  1602,  to  gratify  Mr.  Grahame, 

»  MSS.  I.  F.  *  Vol.  1.  p.  154. 

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190  BESIDENCE  AT   GBASMERE. 

of  Glasgow,  brother  of  the  author  of  "The  Sabbath."  He 
was  a  zealous  coadjutor  of  Mr.  Clarkson,  and  a  man  of 
ardent  humanity.  The  incident  had  happened  to  himself, 
and  he  urged  me  to  put  it  into  verse  for  humanity^s  sake« 
The  humbleness,  meanness,  if  you  like,  of  the  subject, 
together  with  the  homely  mode  of  treating  it,  brought 
upon  me  a  world  of  ridicule  by  the  small  critics,  so  that 
in  policy  I  excluded  it  from  many  editions  of  my  Poems, 
till  it  was  restored  at  the  request  of  some  of  my  friends,  in 
particular  my  son-in-law,  Edward  Quillinan.' 

The' Beggars.^  — Town-End,  1802.  *Met,  and  de- 
scribed to  me  by  my  sister,  near  the  quarry  at  the  head  of 
Rydal  Lake,  a  place  still  a  chosen  resort  of  vagrants  trav- 
elling with  their  families.' 

To  a  Butterfljf.^  —  Grasmere,  Town-End.  '  Written  in 
the  orchard,  1802.  My  sister  and  I  were  parted  immedi- 
ately after  the  death  of  our  mother,  who  died  in  March, 
1778,  both  being  very  young.' 

My  Heart  leaps  up,  4*c.3  — '  This  was  written  at  Gras- 
mere, Town-End.' 

I  wandered  lonely  as  a  Clouds  —  Town-End,  1804. 
The  Daffodils,  — '  The  two  best  lines  in  it  are  by  M.  W. 
The  daffodils  grew,  and  still  grow,  on  the  margin  of  Ulls- 
water,  and  probably  may  be  seen  to  this  day  as  beautiful 
in  the  month  of  March,  nodding  their  golden  heads  beside 
the  dancing  and  foaming  waves.' 

The  Cock  is  crowing.^  —  'Extempore,  1802.  This 
little  poem  was  a  favourite  with  Joanna  Baillie.'* 


>  Vol.  ii.  p.  111.         «  Vol.  i.  p.  147,  208.        3  Vol.  i.  p.  147. 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  103.         »  Vol.  ii.  p.  109. 

*  [Since  this  chapter  was  printed  in  the  London  edition,  the 
death  of  this  venerable  lady  has  occurred ;  she  and  Mr.  Rogers, 


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RESIDENCE   AT   GRASMEBE.  191 

To  the  small^  Celandine.^  —  Grasmere,  Town-End.  '  It 
is  remarkable  that  this  flower,  coming  out  so  early  in  the 
spring  as  it  does,  and  so  bright  and  beautiful,  and  in  such 
profusion,  should  not  have  been  noticed  earlier  in  English 
verse.  What  adds  much  to  the  interest  that  attends  it,  is 
its  habit  of  shutting  itself  up  and  opening  out  according  to 
the  degree  of  light  and  temperature  of  the  air.* 

Resolution  and  Independence.^  —  Town-End,  1807. 
'  This  old  man  I  met  a  few  hundred  yards  from  my  cot- 
tage at  Town-End,  Grasmere ;  and  the  account  of  him  is 
taken  from  his  own  mouth.  I  was  in  the  state  of  feeling 
described  in  the  beginning  of  the  poem,  while  crossing 
over  Barton  Fell  from  Mr.  Clarkson's,  at  the  foot  of  Ulls- 
water,  towards  Askham.  The  image  of  the  hare  I  then 
observed  on  the  ridge  of  the  Fell.' 

Miscellaneous  Sonnets^  Part  I.  —  I  grieved  for  Buona- 
parte.^  — '  In  the  cottage  of  Town-End,  one  afternoon  in 
1801,  my  sister  read  to  me  the  Sonnets  of  Milton.  I  had 
long  been  well  acquainted  with  them,  but  I  was  particular* 
ly  struck  on  that  occasion  with  the  dignified  simplicity  and 
majestic  harmony  that  runs  through  most  of  them  —  in 
character  so  totally  different  from  the  Italian,  and  still 
more  so  from  Shakspeare's  fine  sonnets.  I  took  fire,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  to  say  so,  and  produced  three  sonnets  the 
same  afternoon,  the  first  I  ever  wrote,  except  an  irregular 
one  at  school.  Of  these  three  the  only  one  I  distinctly 
remember  is,  "  I  grieved  for  Buonaparte,"  &c. ;  one  of 

among  the  Poets,  were  both  Wordsworth's  seniors  by  several 
years.  Joanna  Baillie  died  February  23,  1851,  having  reached 
the  remarkable  age  of  eighty-nine  years. — h.  r.] 

>  Vol.  ii.  p.  32,  34.  »  Vol.  ii.  p.  124.    See  above,  p.  173. 

8  Vol.  iii.  p.  55, 

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'  192  RESIDENCE  AT   6BASMERE. 

the  Others  was  never  written  down ;  the  third,  which  was 
1  believe  preserved,  I  cannot  particularize.'  • 

The  Ode.^  — '  This  was  composed  during  my  residence 
at  Town-End,  Grasmere.  Two  years  at  least  passed  be- 
tween the  writing  of  the  first  four  stanzas  and  the  remain- 
ing part  To  the  attentive  and  competent  reader  the 
whole  sufficiently  explains  itself,  but  there  may  be  no 
harm  in  adverting  here  to  particular  feelings  or  experu 
^ences  of  my  own  mind  on  which  the  structure  of  the  poem 
partly  rests.  Nothing  was  more  difficult  for  me  in  child- 
hood than  to  admit  the  notion  of  death  as  a  state  applica- 
ble to  my  own  being.     I  have  said  elsewhere 

''  A  simple  child 
That  lightly  draws  its  breath, 
And  feels  its  life  in  every  limb, 
What  should  it  know  of  death?  " 

But  it  was  not  so  much  from  the  source  of  animal  vivacity 
that  my  difficulty  came  as  from  a  sense  of  the  indomitable- 
ness  of  the  spirit  within  me.  I  used  to  brood  over  the 
stories  of  Enoch  and  Elijah,  and  almost  to  persuade  my- 
self that,  whatever  might  become  of  others,  I  should  be 
translated  in  something  of  the  same  way  to  heaven.    With 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  148. 

*  [In  a  short  prefatory  '  advertisement  *  to  the  Sonnets  collected 
in  one  volume,  Wordsworth  says  : 

'  My  admiration  of  some  of  the  Sonnets  of  Milton  first  tempted 
me  to  write  in  that  form.  The  fact  is  not  mentioned  from  a  notion 
that  it  will  be  deemed  of  any  importance  by  the  reader,  but  merely 
as  a  public  acknowledgment  of  one  of  the  innumerable  obliga- 
tions, which,  as  a  Poet  and  a  man,  I  am  under  to  our  great 
fellow-countryman.  —  Rydal  Mount,  May  21st,  1838.'  See  also 
post,  Chap.  XXII.,  note  on  Milton^s  Sonnets ;  and  a  passage  on  his 
character  and  career,  in  Chap.  lii.  Vol.  n.  —  h.  r.] 

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EESIDBNCE  AT   GSASMEIIS.  193 

a  feeling  congenial  to  this,  I  was  of);en  unable  to  think  of 
external  things  as  having  external  existence,  and  I  com- 
muned with  all  that  I  saw  as  something  not  apart  from,  but 
inherent  in,  my  own  immaterial  nature.  Many  timesf 
while  going  to  school  have  I  grasped  at  a  wall  or  tree  to 
recall  myself  from  this  abyss  of  idealism  to  the  reality; 
At  that  time  I  was  afraid  of  such  processes.  In  later 
periods  of  life  I  have  deplored,  as  we  have  all  reason  to 
do,  a  subjugation  of  an  opposite  character,  and  have 
rejoiced  over  the  remembrances,  as  is  expressed  in  the 
lines,  "  Obstinate  questionings,"  &c.  To  that  dreamlike 
vividness  and  splendour  which  invest  objects  of  sight  in 
childhood,  every  one,  I  believe,  if  he  would  look  back, 
could  bear  testimony,  and  I  need  not  dwell  upon  it  here  ; 
but  having  in  the  poem  regarded  it  as  presumptive  evi- 
dence of  a  prior  state  of  existence,  I  think  it  right  to 
protest  against  a  conclusion  which  has  given  pain  to  some 
good  and  pious  persons,  that  I  meant  to  inculcate  such  a 
belief.  It  is  far  too  shadowy  a  notion  to  be  recommended 
to  faith  as  more  than  an  element  in  our  instincts  of  im* 
mortality.  But  let  us  bear  in  mind  that,  though  the  idea 
is  not  advanced  in  revelation,  there  is  nothing  there  to  con- 
tradict it,  and  the  fall  of  man  presents  an  analogy  in  its 
favour.  Accordingly,  a  pre-existent  state  has  entered 
into  the  popular  creeds  of  many  nations,  and  among  all 
persons  acquainted  with  classic  literature  is  known  as  an 
ingredient  in  Platonic  philosophy.  Archimedes  said  that 
he  could  move  the  world  if  he  had  a  point  whereon  to  rest 
his  machine.  Who  has  not  felt  the  same  aspirations  as 
regards  the  world  of  his  own  mind  ?  Having  to  wield 
some  of  its  elements  when  I  was  impelled  to  write  this' 
poem  on  the  "  Immortality  of  the  Soul,"  I  took  hold  of  the 
notion  of  pre-existence  as  having  sufficient  foundation  in 
VOL.  I.  13 

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IM  SBaiBBHCB  AT  GBAaXBBB. 

humanity  for  authoriziog  me  to  make  for  my  purpose  the 
best  use  of  it  I  could  as  a  Poet' 

Poor  iSu^oft.^  — Written  1801  or  1802.  'This  arose 
out  of  my  observation  of  the  afiecting  music  of  these 
birds,  hanging  in  this  way  in  the  London  streets  during 
the  freshness  and  stillness  of  the  spring  morning.' 

Foresight,^  —  ^Also  composed  in  the  orchard,  Graa* 
mere,  Town-End.' 

The  following  letter  from  Mr.  Wordsworth  may  serve 
as  a  conclusion  to  the  present  chapter. 

*  My  dear  Sir, 

*  Had  it  not  been  for  a  very  amiable  modesty,  you  could 
not  have  imagined  that  your  letter  could  give  me  any 
offence.  It  was  on  many  accounts  highly  grateful  to  me. 
I  was  pleased  to  find  that  I  had  given  so  much  pleasure 
lo  an  ingenuous  and  able  mind,  and  I  further  considered 
the  enjoyment  which  you  had  had  from  my  Poems  as  an 
earnest  that  others  might  be  delighted  with  them  in  the 
fame,  or  a  like  manner.  It  is  plain  from  your  letter  that 
the  pleasure  which  I  have  given  you  has  not  been  blind 
or  unthinking;  you  have  studied  the  poems,  and  prove 
that  you  have  entered  into  the  spirit  of  them.  They  have 
not  given  you  a  cheap  or  vulgar  pleasure ;  therefore  I  feel 
that  you  are  entitled  to  my  kindest  thanks  for  having  done 
some  violence  to  your  natural  diffidence  in  the  communi- 
cation which  you  have  made  to  me. 

^  There  is  scarcely  any  part  of  your  letter  that  does  not 
deserve  particular  notice ;  but  partly  from  some  constitu- 
tional infirmities,  and  partly  from  certain  habits  of  mind, 
I  do  not  write  any  letters  unless  upon  business,  not  even 

» Vol.  ii.  p.  104.  «  Vol.  i.  p.  149. 

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EESIDENCB  AT   ORASMSBS.  ]M 

to  mj  dearest  friends.  Except  during  absence  from  tny 
own  family,  I  have  not  written  five  letters  of  friendship 
during  the  last  five  years.  1  have  mentioned  this  in  order 
that  I  may  retain  your'  good  opinion,  should  my  letter  be 
less  minute  than  you  are  entitled  to  expect  You  seem  to 
be  desirous  of  my  opinion  on  the  influence  of  natural 
objects  in  forming  the  character  of  Nations.  This  cannot 
be  understood  without  first  considering  their  influence 
upon  men  in  general,  first,  with  reference  to  such  objects 
as  are  common  to  all  countries ;  and,  next,  such  as  belong 
exclusively  to  any  particular  country,  or  in  a  greater 
degree  to  it  than  to  another.  Now  it  is  manifest  that  no 
human  being  can  be  so  besotted  and  debased  by  oppres* 
sion,  penury,  or  any  other  evil  which  unhumanizes  man, 
as  to  be  utterly  insensible  to  the  colours,  forms,  or  smelt 
of  flowers,  the  [voices  ^j  and  motions  of  birds  and  beasts^ 
the  appearances  of  the  sky  and  heavenly  bodies,  the  gen* 
eral  warmth  of  a  fine  day,  the  terror  and  uncomfortable* 
ness  of  a  storm,  &;c.  &c.  How  dead  soever  many  full- 
grown  men  may  outwardly  seem  to  these  things,  all  are 
more  or  less  affected  by  them ;  and  in  childhood,  in  the 
first  practice  and  exercise  of  their  senses,  they  must  have 
been  not  the  nourishers  merely,  but  often  the  fathers  of 
their  passions.  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  in  tracts  of 
country  where  images  of  danger,  melancholy,  grandeur, 
or  loveliness,  softness,  and  ease  prevail,  that  they  will 
make  themselves  felt  powerfully  in  forming  the  characters 
of  the  people,  so  as  to  produce  an  uniformity  or  national 
character,  where  the  nation  is  small  and  is  not  made  up  of 
men  who,  inhabiting  diflerent  soils,  climates,  &c.,  by  their 
civil  usages  and  relations  materially  interfere  with  each 

'  Farts  of  this  letter  have  been  torn,  and  words  have  been  lost ; 
some  of  which  are  here  conjecturally  supplied  between  brackets. 

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IW  KBSIBEHCB  AT  ORASMEBS. 

otfaen  It  was  so  fonneily,  no  doubt,  in  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland ;  bat  we  cannot  perhaps  observe  much  of  it  in 
our  own  island  at  the  present  day,  because,  even  in  the 
most  sequestered  places,  by  manufactures,  traffic,  religion, 
law,  interchange  of  inhabitants,  &c.,  distinctions  are  done 
away,  which  would  otherwise  have  been  strong  and  obvi- 
ous. This  complex  state  of  society  does  not,  however, 
prevent  the  characters  of  individuals  from  frequently 
receiving  a  strong  bias,  not  merely  from  the  impressions 
of  general  nature,  but  also  from  local  objects  and  images. 
But  it  seems  that  to  produce  these  effects,  in  the  degree  in 
which  we  frequently  find  them  to  be  produced,  there  must 
be  a  peculiar  sensibility  of  original  organization  combin- 
ing with  moral  accidents,  as  is  exhibited  in  "  The  Bro- 
thers "  and  in  "  Ruth  ; "  I  mean,  to  produce  this  in  a 
marked  degree ;  not  that  I  believe  that  any  man  was  ever 
brought  up  in  the  country  without  loving  it,  especially  in 
his  better  moments,  or  in  a  district  of  particular  grandeur 
or  beauty,  without  feeling  some  stronger  attachment  to  it 
on  that  account  than  he  would  otherwise  have  felt  I  in- 
clude, you  will  observe,  in  these  considerations,  the  influ- 
ence of  climate,  changes  in  the  atmosphere  and  elements, 
and  the  labours  and  occupations  which  particular  districts 
require. 

*  You  begin  what  you  say  upon  the  "  Idiot  Boy,"  with 
this  observation,  that  nothing  is  a  fit  subject  for  poetry 
which  does  not  please.  But  here  follows  a  question.  Does 
not  please  whom  ?  Some  have  little  knowledge  of  natural 
imagery  of  any  kind,  and,  of  course,  little  relish  for  it ; 
some  are  disgusted  with  the  very  mention  of  the  words 
pastoral  poetry,  sheep  or  shepherds  ;  some  cannot  tolerate 
a  poem  with  a  ghost  or  any  supernatural  agency  in  it ; 
others  would  shrink  from  an  animated  description  of  the 
pleasures  of  love,  as  from  a  thing  carnal  and  libidinous ; 

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SESIDENCE  AT   GRASMEBE.  197 

some  cannot  bear  to  see  delicate  and  refined  feelings 
ascribed  to  men  in  low  conditions  in  society,  because  their 
vanity  and  self-love  tell  them  that  these  belong  only  to 
themselves,  and  men  like  themselves  in  dress,  station,  and 
way  of  life  ;  others  are  disgusted  with  the  naked  language 
of  some  of  the  most  interesting  passions  of  men,  because 
either  it  is  indelicate,  or  gross,  or  vulgar ;  as  many  fine 
ladies  could  not  bear  certain  expressions  in  the  "  Mother  " 
and  the  "  Thorn,"  and,  as  in  the  instance  of  Adam  Smith, 
who,  we  are  told,  could  not  endure  the  ballad  of  "  Clym 
of  the  Clough,"  because  the  author  had  not  written  like  a 
gentleman.  Thenr  there  are  professional  and  national 
prejudices  for  evermore.  Some  take  no  interest  in  the 
description  of  a  particular  passion  or  quality,  as  love  of 
solitariness,  we  will  say,  genial  activity  of  fancy,  love  of 
nature,  religion,  and  so  forth,  because  they  have  [little  or] 
nothing  of  it  in  themselves ;  and  so  on  without  end.  I 
return  then  to  [  the  ]  question,  please  whom  ?  or  what  ? 
1  answer,  human  nature  as  it  has  been  [  and  ever  ]  will 
be.  But,  where  are  we  to  find  the  best  measure  of  this  ? 
I  answer,  [from  with  ]  in ;  by  stripping  our  own  hearts 
naked,  and  by  looking  out  of  ourselves  to  [wards  men] 
who  lead  the  simplest  lives,  and  most  according  to  nature  ; 
men  who  have  never  known  false  refinements,  wayward 
and  artificial  desires,  false  criticisms,  eflfeminate  habits  of 
thinking  and  feeling,  or  who,  having  known  these  things, 
have  outgrown  them.  This  latter  class  is  the  most  to  be 
depended  upon,  but  it  is  very  small  in  number.  People 
in  our  rank  in  life  are  perpetually  falling  into  one  sad 
mistake,  namely,  that  of  supposing  that  human  nature  and 
the  persons  they  associate  with,  are  one  and  the  same 
thing.  Whom  do  we  generally  associate  with  ?  Gentle- 
men, persons  of  fortune,  professional  men,  ladies,  persons 
who  can  afford  to  buy,  or  can  easily  procure  books  of 

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198  BESIDSNCB   AT  SRASMBBB* 

lialf-a-guinea  price,  hot-pressed,  and  printed  upon  super- 
fine paper.  These  persons  are,  it  is  true,  a  part  of  human 
nature,  but  we  err  lamentably  if  we  suppose  them  to  be 
fair  representatives  of  the  vast  mass  of  human  existence. 
And  yet  few  ever  consider  books  but  with  reference  to 
their  power  of  pleasing  these  persons  and  men  of  a  higher 
rank  ;  few  descend  lower,  among  cottages  and  fields,  and 
among  children.  A  man  must  have  done  this  habitually 
before  his  judgment  upon  the  *'  Idiot  Boy "  would  be  in 
any  way  decisive  with  me.  I  know  I  have  done  this  my- 
aelf  habitually  ;  I  wrote  the  poem  with  exceeding  delight 
tuid  pleasure,  and  whenever  I  read  it  I  read  it  with  plea** 
sure.  You  have  given  me  praise  for  having  reflected 
faithfully  in  my  Poems  the  feelings  of  human  nature.  I 
would  fain  hope  that  I  have  done  so.  But  a  great  Poet 
ought  to  do  more  than  this ;  he  ought,  to  a  certain  degree, 
to  rectify  men's  feelings,  to  give  them  new  compositicMis 
of  feeling,  to  render  their  feelings  more  sane,  pure,  and 
permanent,  in  short,  more  consonant  to  nature,  that  is,  to 
eternal  nature,  and  the  great  moving  spirit  of  things.  He 
ought  to  travel  before  men  occasionally  as  well  as  at  theit 
sides.  I  may  illustrate  this  by  a  reference  to  natural 
objects.  What  false  notions  have  prevailed  from  genera- 
tion to  generation  of  the  true  character  of  the  Nightingale. 
As  far  as  my  Friend's  Poem,  in  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  is 
read,  it  will  contribute  greatly  to  rectify  these.  You  will 
recollect  a  passage  in  Cowper,  where,  speaking  of  rural 
sounds,  he  says, 

"  And  even  the  boding  Owl 
That  hails  the  rising  moon  has  charms  for  me." 

Ck>wper  was  passionately  fond  of  natural  objects,  yet  you 
see  he  mentions  it  as  a  marvellous  thing  that  he  could 
connect  pleasure  with  the  cry  of  the  owl.     In  the  same 

•  Digitized  by  Google 


EB8ID1NCS  AT  GRASMSBB.  198 

poem  he  speaks  in  the  same  manner  of  that  beautiful 
plant,  the  gorse  ;  making  in  some  degree  an  amiable  boasi 
of  his  loving  it,  *^  unsightly ''  and  unsmooth  as  it  is.  There 
are  many  aversions  of  this  kind,  which,  though  they  have 
some  foundation  in  nature,  have  yet  so  slight  a  one,  that, 
though  they  may  have  prevailed  hundreds  of  years,  a 
philosopher  will  look  upon  them  as  accidents.  So  with 
respect  to  many  moral  feelings,  either  of  love  or  dislike. 
What  excessive  admiration  was  paid  in  former  times  to 
personal  prowess  and  military  success ;  it  is  so  vdth  the 
latter  even  at  the  present  day,  but  surely  not  nearly  so 
much  as  heretofore.  So  with  regard  to  birth,  and  innu* 
merable  other  modes  of  sentiment,  civil  and  religious. 
But  you  will  be  inclined  to  ask  by  this  time  how  all  this 
applies  to  the  "  Idiot  Boy.**  To  this  I  can  only  say  that 
the  loathing  and  disgust  which  many  people  have  at  the 
sight  of  an  idiot,  is  a  feeling  which,  though  having  some 
foundation  in  human  nature,  is  not  necessarily  attached  to 
it  in  any  virtuous  degree,  but  is  owing  in  a  great  measure 
to  a  false  delicacy,  and,  if  I  may  say  it  without  rude- 
ness, a  certain  want  of  comprehensiveness  of  thinking 
and  feeling.  Persons  in  the  lower  classes  of  society  have 
little  or  nothing  of  this :  if  an  idiot  is  bom  in  a  poor 
man^s  house,  it  must  be  taken  care  of,  and  cannot  be 
boarded  out,  as  it  would  be  by  gentlefolks,  or  sent  to  a 
public  or  private  receptacle  for  such  unfortunate  beings. 
[Poor  people]  seeing  frequently  among  their  neighbours 
such  objects,  easily  [forget]  whatever  there  is  of  natural 
disgust  about  them,  and  have  [therefore]  a  sane  state,  so 
that  without  pain  or  suffering  they  [perform]  their  duties 
towards  them.  I  could  with  pleasure  pursue  this  subject, 
but  I  must  now  strictly  adopt  the  plan  which  I  proposed  to 
myself  when  I  began  to  write  this  letter,  namely,  that  of 

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fOO  EBSIDBNCB  IT   GBASMBRB, 

{letting  down  a  few  hints  or  memorandums,  which  you 
will  think  of  for  my  sake. 

'  I  have  often  applied  to  idiots,  in  my  own  mind,  that 
Buhlime  expression  of  scripture  that  "  their  life  is  hidden 
with  God.'*''  They  are  worshipped,  prohably  from  a  feel- 
ing of  this  sort,  in  several  parts  of  the  East.  Among  the 
Alps,  where  they  are  numerous,  they  are  considered,  I 
believe,  as  a  blessing  to  the  family  to  which  they  belong. 
I  have,  indeed,  often  looked  upon  the  conduct  of  fathers 
and  mothers  of  the  lower  classes  of  society  towards  idiots 
as  the  great  triumph  of  the  human  heart.  It  is  there  that 
we  see  the  strength,  disinterestedness,  and  grandeur  of 
love ;  nor  have  I  ever  been  able  to  contemplate  an  object 
that  calls  out  so  many  excellent  and  virtuous  sentiments 
without  finding  it  hallowed  thereby,  and  having  something 
in  me  which  bears  down  before  it,  like  a  deluge,  every 
feeble  sensation  of  disgust  and  aversion. 

'  There  are,  in  my  opinion,  several  important  mistakes 
in  the  latter  part  of  your  letter  which  I  could  have  wished 
to  notice  ;  but  I  find  myself  much  fatigued.  These  refer 
both  to  the  Boy  and  the  Mother.  I  must  content  myself 
simply  with  observing,  that  it  is  probable  that  the  principal 
cause  of  your  dislike  to  this  particular  poem  lies  in  the 
word  Idiot.  If  there  had  been  any  such  word  in  our  lan- 
guage, to  which  we  had  attached  passion^  as  lack- wit, 
half-wit,  witless,  dec,  1  should  have  certainly  employed  it 
in  preference  ;  but  there  is  no  such  word.  Observe  (this 
is  entirely  in  reference  to  this  particular  poem),  my 
"  Idiot "  is  not  one  of  those  who  cannot  articulate,  and 
such  as  are  usually  disgusting  in  their  persons  : 

"  Whether  in  cunning  or  in  joy, 
And  then  his  words  mere  not  a  few,"  &c. 

and  the  last  speech  at  the  end  of  the  poem.     The  "  Boy  " 
whom  I  had  in  my  mind  was  by  no  means  disgusting  in 

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BKSIDBNCB   AT   OBASMERE.  901 

bis  appearance,  quite  the  contrary ;  and  I  have  known 
several  with  imperfect  faculties,  who  are  handsome  in 
tiieir  persons  and  features.  There  is  one,  at  present, 
within  a  mile  of  ray  own  house,  remarkably  so,  though 
[he  has  something]  of  a  stare  and  vacancy  in  his  counte- 
nance. A  friend  of  mine,  knowing  that  some  persons  had 
a  dislike  to  the  poem,  such  as  you  have  expressed,  advised 
me  to  add  a  stanza,  describing  the  person  of  the  Boy  [so 
as]  entirely  to  separate  him  in  the  imaginations  of  my 
readers  from  that  class  of  idiots  who  are  disgusting  in 
their  persons ;  but  the  narration  in  the  poem  is  so  rapid 
and  impassioned,  that  I  could  not  find  a  place  in  which  to 
insert  the  stanza  without  checking  the  progress  of  it,  and 
[so  leaving]  a  deadness  upon  the  feeling.  This  poem  has, 
I  know,  frequently  produced  the  same  effect  as  it  did  upon 
you  and  your  friends ;  but  there  are  many  also  to  whom 
it  affords  exquisite  delight,  and  who,  indeed,  prefer  it  to 
any  other  of  my  poems.  This  proves  that  the  feelings 
there  delineated  are  such  as  men  may  sympathize  with. 
This  is  enough  for  my  purpose.  It  is  not  enough  for  me  as  a 
Poet,  to  delineate  merely  such  feelings  as  all  men  do  sym- 
pathize with  ;  but  it  is  also  highly  desirable  to  add  to  these 
others,  such  as  all  men  may  sympathize  with,  and  such  as 
there  is  reason  to  believe  they  would  be  better  and  more 
moral  beings  if  they  did  sympathize  with. 

*  I  conclude  with  regret,  because  I  have  not  said  one 
half  of  [what  I  intended]  to  say  ;  but  I  am  sure  you  will 
deem  my  excuse  sufficient,  [when  I]  inform  you  that  my 
head  aches  violently,  and  I  am  in  other  respects  unwell. 
I  must,  however,  again  give  you  my  warmest  thanks  for 
your  kind  letter.  I  shall  be  happy  'to  hear  from  you 
i^ain :  and  do  not  think  it  unreasonable  that  I  should 
request  a  letter  from  you,  when  I  feel  that  the  answer 
which  I  may  make  to  it  will  not  perhaps  be  above  three 

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RESIDENCE   At  GRASMEEB. 

or  four  lines.  This  I  mention  to  you  with  frankness,  and 
you  will  not  take  it  ill  after  what  I  have  before  said  of  my 
remissness  in  writing  letters. 

*•  I  am,  dear  Sir, 

*  With  great  respect, 
'  Yours  sincerely, 

'W.  Wordsworth.' 


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CHAPTER    XIX. 

MARRIAGE. 

The  preceding  chapter  brought  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  the 
eve  of  one  the  most  eventful  eras  of  his  life  —  his  Mar- 
riage. 

This  is  a  subject  on  which  no  one  can  speak  but  in  his 
own  language ;  *  a  stranger  intermeddleth  not  with  his 
joy.'  But  it  may  serve  a  useful  purpose  to  refer  to  his 
words. 

His  marriage  was  full  of  blessings  to  himself,  as  minis- 
tering to  the  exercise  of  his  tender  affections,  in  the  disci- 
pline and  delight  which  married  life  supplies.  The  boon 
bestowed  on  him  in  the  marriage-union  was  admirably 
adapted  to  shed  a  cheering  and  soothing  influence  upon 
his  mind.  And  by  the  language  in  which  he  speaks  of  the 
blessing  which  he  then  received,  he  displays  an  example 
of  true  conjugal  affection,  graced  with  sweet  and  endear- 
ing charms  of  exquisite  delicacy.  He  has  thus  rendered 
great  service  to  society,  which  cannot  too  frequently  be 
reminded  how  much  of  its"  happiness  depends  on  the  mu- 
tual love  of  married  persons,  and  on  the  dignity  and 
purity  of  that  estate  which  was  instituted  by  Almighty 
God  in  the  time  of  man's  innocency. 

But  let  us  listen  to  the  Poet's  own  language.  His  mar- 
riage was  founded  on  early  intimacy,  as  the  lines  already 
noticed  in  '  The  Prelude '  intimate.^     Let  us  pass,  then, 

'  See  FreladC;  p.  144,  ^  Another  maid  there  was/  &c. 

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204  MABBIAGB. 

at  once,  to  that  beautiful  poem,  mentioned  in  the  last 
chapter,  *  The  Farewell,'  in  which  he  expresses  his  feel- 
ings on  quitting  the  cottage  of  Grasmere,  with  his  sister, 
before  his  marriage  :  ^  — • 

'  Farewell !  thou  little  nook  of  mountain-ground, 
Farewell !  we  leave  thee  to  Heaven's  peaceful  care, 
Thee  and  the  cottage  which  thou  dost  surround. 
We  go  for  one  to  whom  ye  will  be  dear  j 
And  she  will  prize  this  bower,  this  Indian  shed, 
Our  own  contrivance,  buildiug  without  peer ; 
A  gentle  maid    .     .    . 
Will  come  to  you,  to  you  herself  will  wed. 
And  love  the  blessed  life  that  we  lead  here.' 

The  beauty  of  this  poem  depends  much  on  its  being 
read,  as  the  author  observes  generally,  with  a  full  appre- 
ciation of,  and  sympathy  in,  the  emotion  with  which  it  was 
written.  A  knowledge  of  the  circumstances  under  which 
it  was  composed  is  necessary.  This  remark  applies  to 
many  other  poems  of  the  author ;  and  if,  by  supplying  the 
clue  to  these  circumstances,  the  present  work  can  enhance 
the  pleasure  and  proKit  to  be  derived  from  them,  its  end  Is 
attained. 

Let  me  next  invite  the  reader  to  peruse  the  expressions 
poured  forth  from  the  author's  heart  in  the  lines 

'  She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight,' » 

'  Vol.  i.  p.  209. 
«  Vol.  ii.  p.  100  :  — 

'  She  was  a  Phantom  of  delight 
When  first  she  gleamed  upon  my  sight ; 
A  lovely  Apparition,  seut 
To  be  a  moment's  ornament ; 
Her  eyes  as  stars  of  Twilight  fair ; 
Like  Twilight's,  too,  her  dusky  hair ) 

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MABSIAGB,  305 

written  in  the  third  year  of  his  married  life.  From  these 
verses  let  him  proceed  to  the  following  lines  in  'The 
Prelude : '  i 

'  When  ev€ry  day  brought  with  it  some  new  sense 
Of  exquisite  regard  for  common  things. 
And  all  the  earth  was  budding  with  these  gifts. 
Of  more  refined  humanity,  thy  breath, 
Dear  Sister !  was  a  kind  of  gentler  spring 
That  went  before  my  steps.    Thereafter  came 
One  whom  with  thee  friendship  had  early  paired ; 

But  all  things  else  about  her  drawn 
From  May-time  and  the  cheerful  Dawn ; 
A  dancing  Shape,  an  Image  gay, 
To  haunt,  to  startle,  and  way-lay. 

'  I  saw  her  upon  nearer  view, 
A  Spirit,  yet  a  Woman  too ! 
Her  household  motions  light  and  free, 
And  steps  of  virgin-liberty  j 
A  countenance  in  which  did  meet 
Sweet  records,  promises  as  sweet ; 
A  Creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  human  nature's  daily  food ; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles. 
Praise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears,  and  smiles. 

'  And  now  I  see  with  eye  serene 
The  very  pulse  of  the  machine ; 
A  Being  breathing  thoughtful  breath, 
A  Traveller  between  life  and  death  j 
The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will. 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 
A  perfect  Woman,  nobly  planned. 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command ; 
And  yet  a  Spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  angelic  light.' 

»  Page  364. 

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SOS  XAKRIIOB. 

She  eame,  no  more  a  pbantom  to  adorn 
A  momeati  but  an  inmate  of  the  heart, 
And  yet  a  spirit  there  for  me  enshrined 
To  penetrate  the  lofty  and  the  low  j 
Even  as  one  essence  of  pervading  light 
Shines  in  the  brightest  of  ten  thousand  stars. 
And  the  meek  worm  that  feeds  her  lonely  lamp 
Couched  in  the  dewy  grass.' 

Next  let  him  turn  to  those  pathetic  lines  prefixed  as  a 
dedication  of  '  The  White  Doe/  *  when  domestic  sorrow, 
in  the  loss  of  two  beloved  children,  had  put  affection  to  the 
test,  and  had  strengthened  it  with  a  holy  power :  let  him 
read^that  dedication,  and  recognize  there  the  sanctity  and 
strength  of  wedded  love. 

Let  him  then  pass  to  the  two  sonnets  written  at  Oxford 
in  1820,3  when  the  Poet  checks  his  fancy,  which  had 
almost  transformed  him  into  a  youthful  student,  with  cap 
and  '  fluttering  gown : ' 

'  She  too  at  his  side. 
Who,  with  her  heart's  experience  satisfied, 
Maintains  inviolate  its  slightest  vow.' 

Other  poems  in  succession  will  next  present  them- 
selves : 

'  Let  other  bards  of  angels  sing/ 
and 

'  Yes,  thou  art  fair,' 

written  in  1824,  ^  and 

'  Ob,  dearer  far  than  life  and  light  are  dear ! ' 

the  last  of  which  will  be  read  with  peculiar  interest,  as 
showing,  in  a  very  touching  manner,  how  the  most  pow- 

'  Vol.  iv.  p.  1.         a  Vol.  ii.  p.  297,  298.         >  Vol.  i.  p.  221-223. 

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XAEKIAGB.  SOT 

.erful  intellect  may  lean  for  support  and  guidance  on  the 
gentle  meekness  and  unwavering  faith  of  woman,  and  may 
derive  strength  and  comfort  from  her  fervent  love  and 
dutiful  obedience. 

The  series  may  be  closed  with  the  inimitable  lines  *  To 
a  Painter,'  *  lines  written  after  thirty-six  years  of  wedded 
life,  and  testifying,  in  the  language  of  the  heart,  that  age 

>  Vol.  ii.  p.  312,  313. 

'  To  A  Paintk»  (Mq^garet  GUlies). 

'  All  praise  the  Likeness  by  thy  skill  portrayed ; 
But  H  is  a  fruitless  task  to  paint  for  me, 
Who,  yielding  not  fb  changes  Time  has  made, 
By  the  habitual  light  of  memory  see 
Eyes  unbedimmed,  see  bloom  that  cannot  fade. 
And  smiles  that  from  their  birthplace  ne'er  shall  flee 
Into  the  land  where  ghosts  and  phantoms  be ; 
And,  seeing  this,  own  nothing  in  its  stead. 
Couldst  thou  go  back  into  far  distant  years. 
Or  share  with  me,  fond  thought !  that  inward  eye, 
Then,  and  then  only,  Painter !  could  thy  Art 
The  visual  powers  of  Nature  satisfy. 
Which  hold,  whatever  to  common  sight  appears, 
Their  sovereign  empire  in  a  faithful  heart.' 

'  On  the  same  Subject. 

'  Though  I  beheld  at  first  with  blank  surprise 
This  Work,  I  now  have  gazed  on  it  so  long 
I  see  its  tnith  with  unreluctant  eyes  ; 
0,  my  Beloved !  I  have  done  thee  wrong. 
Conscious  of  blessedness,  but,  whence  it  sprung, 
Ever  too  heedless,  as  I  now  perceive ; 
Mom  into  noon  did  pass,  noon  into  eve. 
And  the  old  day  was  welcome  as  the  young, 
As  welcome,  and  as  beautiful  —  in  sooth 
More  beautiful  as  being  a  thing  more  holy : 

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208  MAEBIAGE. 


does  not  impair  true  beauty,  but  adds  new  graces  to  it ;  in^ 
a  word,  that  genuine  beauty  enjoys  eternal  youth. 

Thanks  to  thy  virtues,  to  the  eternal  yoath 
Of  all  thy  goodness,  never  melancholy  j 
To  thy  large  heart  and  humble  mind,  that  cast 
Into  one  vision,  futare,  present,  past.' 


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CHAPTER   XX. 

TOITE   IN   SCOTLAND. 

On  the  14th  August,  1803,  Wordsworth  and  his  sister  left 
Grasmere  for  Keswick,  where  they  visited  Mr.  Coleridge, 
who  accompanied  them  in  the  beginning  of  a  short  tour 
which  they  made  in  Scotland. 

The  following  particulars  were  furnished  by  Mr.  Words- 
worth, concerning  this  excursion  and  the  poems  suggested 
by  it: 

Memorials  of  a  Tour  in  Scotland^  1803.^ — '  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge, my  sister,  and  myself,  started  together  from  Town- 
End,  to  make  a  tour  in  Scotland,  August  14th. 

*  Coleridge  was  at  tliat  time  in  bad  spirits,  and  some- 
what too  much  in  love  with  his  own  dejection,  and  he 
departed  from  us,  as  is  recorded  in  my  sister's  journal, 
soon  after  we  left  Loch  Lomond.  The  verses  that  stand 
foremost  among  these  memorials  were  not  actually  written 
for  the  occasion,  but  transplanted  from  my  Epistle  to  Sir 
G.  Beaumont.' 

To  the  Sons  of  Burns. ^ — 'See,  in  connection  with 
these  verses,  two  other  poems  upon  Bums,  one  composed 
actually  at  the  time,  and  the  other,  though  then  felt,  not 
put  into  words  till  several  years  afterwards.' 

Ellen  Inoinj  or  the  Braes  of  Kirtle?  — '  It  may  be 

>  MSS.  I.  F.    See  Poems,  vol.  iii.  p.  1  -  39. 

«  Vol.  iii.  p.  8.  8  Vol.  iii.  p.  10. 

VOL  I.  14  n         \ 

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310  TOVB  IN  SCOTLAND. 

worth  while  to  observe,  that  as  there  are  Scotch  poems  on 
this  subject,  in  the  simple  ballad  strain,  I  thought  it  would 
be  both  presumptuous  and  superfluous  to  attempt  treating 
it  in  the  same  way ;  and  accordingly,  I  chose  a  construc- 
tion of  stanza  quite  new  in  our  language;  in  fact,  the 
same  as  that  of  the  ^*  Burger^s  Leonora,^'  except  that  ihe 
first  and  third  lines  do  not  in  my  stanzas  rhyme.  At  the 
outset,  I  threw  out  a  classical  image,  to  prepare  the  reader 
for  the  style  in  which  I  meant  to  treat  the  story,  and  so  to 
preclude  all  comparison. 

The  Highland  GirU — *This  delightful  creature,  and 
her  demeanour,  are  particularly  described  in  my  sister^s 
journal.  The  sort  of  prophecy  with  which  the  verses  con- 
clude, has,  through  Grod's  goodness,  been  realized ;  and 
now,  approaching  the  close  of  my  seventy-third  year,  I 
have  a  most  vivid  remembrance  of  her,  and  the  beautiful 
objects  with  which  she  was  surrounded.  She  is  alluded 
to  in  the  poem  of  "  The  Three  Cottage  Girls,"  among  my 
continental  memorials.  In  illustration  of  this  class  of 
poems,  I  have  scarcely  any  thing  to  say  but  what  is  an- 
ticipated in  my  sister's  faithful  and  admirable  journal.' 

Address  to  Kilchurn  Castle.*  —  *  The  first  three  lines 
were  thrown  off  at  the  moment  I  first  caught  sight  of  the 
ruin  from  a  small  eminence  by  the  wayside  ;  the  rest  was 
added  many  years  after.' 

Rob  Roy^s  Crrave,^  — '  I  have  since  been  told  that  I 
was  misinformed  as  to  the  burial-place  of  Rob  Roy ;  if  so, 
I  may  plead  in  excuse  that  I  wrote  on  apparently  good 
authority,  namely,  that  of  a  well-educated  lady,  who  lived 
at  the  head  of  the  lake,  within  a  mile,  or  less,  of  the  point 
indicated  as  containing  the  remains  of  one  so  famous  in 
that  neighbourhood.' 

»  Vol.  iii.  p.  12.  «  Vol.  iii.  p.  18.  »  Vol.  Hi.  p.  19. 

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TOUS  IK  SCOTLAND.  811 

Strnnet  compoted   at    Castle^   1803.1-— ^The 

castle  here  mentioned  was  Nidpath,  near  Peebles.  The 
person  alluded  to  was  the  then  Duke  of  Queensbury. 
The  fact  was  told  me  by  Walter  Scott.' 

Sonnet,  *  Fly  some  kind  Harbinger.^ — 'This  was  actu- 
ally composed  the  last  day  of  our  tour,  between  Dalston 
and  Grasmere.' 

The  Blind  Highland  Boy. — 'The  story  was  told  me 
by  George  Mackreth,  for  many  years  parish-clerk  of  Gras- 
mere.  He  had  been  an  eye-witness  of  the  occurrence. 
The  vessel  in  reality  was  a  washing-tub,  which  the  little 
fellow  had  met  with  on  the  shore  of  the  loch.' 

The  following  extracts  from  the  journal  referred  to  by 
Mr.  Wordsworth,  will  be  interesting  to  the  reader,  as  pro- 
ceeding from  the  pen  of  his  companion,  and  as  supplying 
fresh  illustration  to  the  poems :  ^  — 


»  Vol.  ill.  p.  24. 

«  The  Itinerary  of  the  Travellers  was  as  follows :  — 

Day 

1.  Left  Keswick;  Grisdale;  Mosedale;  Hesket;  Newmarket; 

Caldbeck  Falls. 

2.  Rose  Castle ;  Carlisle  ;  Hatfield ;  Longtown. 

3.  Solway  Moss  ;  enter  Scotland ;  Springfield  j  Gretna  Green ; 

Solway  Frith ;  Annan  ;  Dumfries. 

4.  Burns's  Grave ;  Vale  of  Nith ;  Brown  Hill ;  Poem  to  Boms's 

Sons. 

5.  Thornhill ;     Dnimlanrigg ;     Turnpike-house ;     Sportsman  ; 

Wanloch-head ;  Lead  Hills ;  Miners ;  Hopetoun  Mansion  ; 
Hostess. 

6.  Road  to  Crawford  John;  Douglas  Mill;  Clyde;  Lanark; 

Boniton  Linn. 

7.  Falls  of  the  Clyde ;  Cartland  Rocks ;  Trough  of  the  Clyde  j 

Fall  of  Stonebyers ;  Hamilton. 

8.  Hamilton  House ;  Baroncleugh ;  Bothwell  Castle ;  Glasgow. 

9.  Bleachi&g-ground ;  Road  to  Dumbarton. 


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SIS  TOUR   IN  SCOTLAND. 

*  William  and  I  parted  from  Mary  on  Saturday  after* 
noon,  August  14,  1603,  and  William,  Coleridge,  and  I  left 

Day 

10.  Bock  and  Castle  of  Dumbarton;  Yale  of  Leven;  Smollett's 

Monument ;  Loch  Lomond ;  Luss. 

11 .  The  Islands  of  Loich  Lomond ;  Boad  to  Tarbet. 

12.  Left  Tarbet  for  the  Trosachs  ;  Rob  Roy's  Caves ;  Inversneyd 

Ferry-house  and  Waterfall ;  Singular  Building ;  Loch  Ka- 
trine ;  Glengyle ;  Mr.  Macfarlane's. 

13.  Breakfast    at   Glengyle  j    Lairds    of    Glengyle  j     Bnrying- 

ground;  Rob  Roy;  Ferryman's  Hut;  Trosachs;  Return 
to  the  Ferryman's  Hut. 

14.  Left  Loch  Katrine  ;  Garrison-house;  Highland  Girls;  Ferry- 

house  of  Inversneyd ;  Poem  to  the  Highland  Girl ;  Return 
to  Tarbet. 

15.  Coleridge    resolves  to  go  home ;    Arrochar ;    Loch    Long ; 

Parted  with  C. ;  Cobler ;  Glen  Croe  ;  Glen  Finlas ;  Caira- 
dow. 

16.  Road  to  Inverary ;  Inverary. 

17.  Vale  of  Airey ;  Loch  Awe ;  Kilchum  Castle ;  Dahnally. 

18.  Loch  Awe  ;  Teinmuilt ;  Bunawe  ;  Loch  Etive ;  Tinkers. 

19.  Road  by  Loch  Etive  downwards ;  Isle  of  Mull  and  Dunstaff- 

nage  ;  Loch  Creven ;  Strath  of  Appin ;  Portnacruish  ; 
Islands  of  Loch  Linnhe  ;  Morven  ;  Lord  Tweedale ;  Strath 
of  Doura ;  Ballahuilish. 

20.  Blacksmith's  House  ;  Glencoe ;  King's  House. 

21.  Road  to  Inverorin ;  Inverorin ;  Public-house ;  Road  to  Tyn- 

drum  ;  Tyndrum  ;  Loch  Dochart. 

22.  Killin  ;  Loch  Tay ;  Kenmore. 

23.  Lord  Breadalbane's  grounds  ;  Left  Kenmore ;  Vale  of  Tay ; 

Aberfeldy  ;  Falls  of  Moness ;  Logareit ;  River  Tummel ; 
Vale  of  Tummel ;  Fascally ;  Blair. 

24.  Duke  of  Athol's  Gardens ;   Falls  of  Bruar ;  Mountain  road 

to  Loch  Tummel ;  Loch  Tummel ;  River  Tummel ;  River 
Garry;  Tascally. 

25.  Walk  to  the  Pass  of  Killicranky  ;  Sonnet ;  Fall  of  the  Tum- 

mel ;  Dunkeld ;  Fall  of  the  Bran. 

26.  Duke  of  Athol's  Gardens;    Glen  of  the  Bran;   Rumbling 

Brig  ;  Narrow  Glen ;  Poem ;  Crieff. 

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TOUR  IN  8GOTLAKDU  SIS 

Keswick  on  Monday  morning,  the  15th,  at  twenty  minutes 
after  eleven  o'clock.  The  day  was  Teiy  hot  We  walked 
up  the  hills  and  along  all  the  rough  road,  which  made  our 
walking  half  the  day's  journey.  Travelled  under  the  foot 
of  Carrock,  a  mountain  entirely  covered  with  stones  on 
the  lower  part :  above,  it  is  very  rocky,  but  sheep  pasture 
there ;  we  saw  several,  where  there  seemed  no  grass  to 
tempt  them,  straggling  here  and  there.  Passed  the  foot 
of  Grisdale  and  Mosedale,  both  pastoral  valleys,  narrow, 
and  soon  terminating  in  the  mountains,  green,  with  scat- 
tered trees  and  houses,  and  each  a  beautiful  river.' 

'  In  the  evening  walked  to  Caldbeck  Falls,  a  delicious 
spot  in  which  to  breathe  out  a  summer's  day  :  limestone 
rocks  and  caves,  hanging  trees,  pools,  and  water-breaks.' 

Bay 

27.  Strath  Earne ;  Lord  Melville's  House  j  Loch  Eame  ;  Strath 

Eyer ;  Loch  Lnbnich  ;  Bruce ;  Pass  of  Leny  ;  Callender. 

28.  Road  to  the  Trosachs ;  Loch  Vennachar ;  Loch  Archy  ;  Tro- 

sachs  ;  Loch  Katrine  ;  Poem  ;  Boatman's  Hut. 

29.  Road  to  Loch  Lomond ;  Ferry-house  of  Inversneyd  -,  Road 

up  Loch  Lomond ;    GlenfaiUach ;   Glengyle  ;   Rob  Roy's 
Grave ;  Boatman's  Hut. 

30.  Mountain  Road  to  Loch  Veol ;  Loch  Toil  -,  Poem,  the  Soli- 

tary Reaper ;  Strath  Eyre. 

31.  LochLubnich;  Callender  j  Stirling;  Falkirk. 

32.  Linlithgow  ;  Road  to  Edinburgh. 

33.  Edinburgh;  Roslin. 

34.  Roslin ;  Hawthornden  ;  Road  to  Peebles. 

35.  Peebles ;  Nidpath  Castle  ;  Sonnet ;  The  River  Tweed ;  Clo- 

ven Ford ;  Poem  on  Yarrow. 

36.  Melrose ;  Melrose  Abbey. 

37.  Dryburgh ;  Jedburgh ;  Old  Woman ;  Poem. 

38.  Vale  of  Jed. 

39.  Jedburgh  ;  the  Assizes  ;  Vale  of  Tiviot ;  Hawick. 

40.  Vale  of  Tiviot ;  Branksholm  ;  Moss  Paul  ;  Langholm. 

41.  Road  to  Longtown ;  River  Esk  ;  Carlisle. 

42.  Arrived  at  home.  (  r^r^rslr> 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


314  rotrft  in  bcotlandw 

*  'nteaday,  Augu$t  ISth. — Passed  Rose  Castle,  upon 
the  Caldew,  an  ancient  building  of  red  stone,  with  slop- 
ing  gardens,  an  ivied  gateway,  veWet  lawns,  old  garden 
walls,  trini  flower  borders  with  stately  and  luxuriant 
flowers.  We  walked  up  to  the  house,  and  stood  some 
minutes  watching  the  swallows  that  flew  about  restlessly, 
and  flung  their  shadows  upon  the  sun-bright  walls  of  the 
old  building:  the  shadows  glanced  and  twinkled,  inter- 
changed and  crossed  each  other,  expanded  and  shrunk  up, 
appeared  and  disappeared,  every  instant, — as  I  observed 
to  Wm.  and  C,  seeming  more  like  living  things  than  the 
birds  themselves.  Dined  at  Carlisle  :  thetown  in  a  bustle 
with  the  assizes ;  so  many  strange  faces  that  I  had  known 
in  former  times  and  recognized  again,  that  it  half  seemed 
as  if  I  ought  to  know  them  all ;  and  together  with  the 
noise,  the  fine  ladies,  &c.,  they  put  me  into  confusion. 
This  day  Hatfield  was  condemned.  I  stood  at  the  door  of 
the  gaoler's  house,  where  he  was ;  Wm.  entered  the  house, 
and  C.  saw  him.  I  fell  into  conversation  with  a  debtor,  who 
told  me,  in  a  dry  way,  that  "  he  was  far  over-learned  ;  ^ 
and  another  man  observed  to  Wm.,  that  we  might  learn, 
from  Hatfield's  fate,  "  not  to  meddle  with  pen  and  ink.'* 
We  gave  a  shilling  to  my  companion,  whom  we  found  out 
to  be  a  friend  of  the  family,  a  fellow-sailor  with  my 
brother  John  in  Captain  Wordsworth's  ship.  Walked  upon 
.  the  walls  of  the  city,  which  are  broken  down  in  places 
and  crumbling  away.' 

^  Wednesday^  August  11  th.  —  Left  Longtown  after 
breakfast.  About  half  a  mile  from  town  a  guide-post  and 
two  roads  — to  Edinburgh  and  Glasgow  :  we  took  the  left- 
hand  road,  namely,  to  Glasgow.  Here  we  saw  the  first 
specimens  of  the  luxuriance  of  the  heather  plant  as  it 
grows  in  Scotland  ;  it  was  in  the  inclosed  plantations 

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TOVB  Uf  SCOTLAMP.  916 

(perhaps  sheltered  by  them).  These  plaotatioiis  appeared 
to  be  not  well  grown  for  their  age ;  the  trees  were  stunted, 
but  growing  irregularly :  they  reminded  me  of  the  Hartz 
forest,  near  Goslar,  and  I  was  pleased ;  besides,  Wm.  had 
spoken  to  me,  two  years  before,  of  the  pleasure  he  had 
received  from  the  heather  plant  in  that  very  spot.  Afler^ 
wards  the  road  treeless,  over  a  peat-moss  common  (the 
Solway  moss) ;  here  and  there  an  earth-built  hut,  with  its 
peat-stack,  a  scanty-growing  willow  hedge  round  the  kail* 
garth,  perhaps  the  cow  pasturing  near  —  a  little  }^a» 
watching  it;  the  dreary  waste  cheered  by  the  endless 
singing  of  larks.  We  enter  Scotland  by  crossing  the 
river  Sark.^ 

^  Further  on,  though  almost  contiguous,  is  Gretna  Green, 
upon  a  hill  among  trees>  This  sounds  well,  but  it  is  t 
dreary  place  when  you  are  in  it ;  the  stone  houses  dirty 
and  miserable,  with  broken  windows,  &c.  There  is  a 
pleasant  view  from  the  churchyard,  over  Solway  Frith,  tQ 
the  Cumberland  hills.  Dined  at  Annan.  On  our  left,  as 
we  travelled  along,  was  the  Solway  Frith  and  the  Cumber- 
land mountains,  but  the  near  country  very  dreary.  The 
houses  by  the  road-side,  which  are  built  of  stone,  look 
comfortless  and  dirty ;  but  we  peeped  into  a  clay  biggin 
that  was  very  canny  ^  and  I  dare  say  will  be  as  warm  as  a 
swallow's  nest  in  winter.  The  town  of  Annan  made  me 
think  of  France  and  Germany ;  the  houses  often  large 
and  gloomy,  the  size  of  them  outrunning  the  comfort 
One  thing  which  was  like  Germany  pleased  me,  —  the 
shopkeepers  express  their  calling  by  some  device  or  paint- 
ing :  bread-bakers  have  biscuits,  loaves,  cakes,  painted  on 
their  window-shutters;  blacksmiths,  horses'  shoes,  iron 
tools,  <Sz;c.,  &c. ;  and  so  on  through  all  trades.' 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


sit  TOVE  m  SCOTLAND. 

» 

^Thursday J  August  ISth.  —  Went  to  the  churchyard 
where  Bums  is  buried :  a  bookseller  accompanied  us,  of 
whom  I  had  bought  some  little  books  for  Johnny.  He 
showed  us  first  the  outside  of  Burns^s  house,  where  he  had 
lived  the  last  three  years  of  his  life,  and  where  he  died. 
It  has  a  mean  appearance,  and  is  in  a  by  situation,  white- 
washed, dirty  about  the  doors,  as  all  Scotch  houses  are ; 
flowering  plants  in  the  windows.  Went  on  to  visit  his 
grave.  He  lies  at  a  comer  of  the  churchyard,  and  his 
seoond  son,  Francis  Wallace,  is  beside  him.  There  is  no 
stone  to  mark  the  spot ;  but  a  hundred  guineas  have  been 
collected,  to  be  laid  out  in  some  sort  of  monument. 
♦*  There,"  said  the  bookseller  to  us,  pointing  to  a  pompous 
monument  a  few  yards  off,  *'  there  lies  Mr.  Such-a-one,'^* 
(I  have  forgotten  the  name),  "  a  remarkably  clever  man : 
he  was  an  attorney,  and  hardly  ever  lost  a  cause  he  under- 
took. Bums  made  many  a  lampoon  upon  him ;  and  there 
they  rest,  as  you  see."  We  looked  at  the  grave  with 
many  melancholy  and  painful  reflections,  repeating  to 
each  other  his  own  verses :  — 

"  Is  there  a  man,  whose  judgment  clear, 
Can  others  teach  the  course  to  steer, 
Yet  runs,  himself,  life's  mad  career, 

Wild  as  the  wave  j 
Here  let  him  pause,  and,  through  a  tear. 

Survey  this  grave. 

'  The  poor  Inhabitant  below 
Was  quick  to  learn  and  wise  to  know, 
And  keenly  felt  the  friendly  glow. 

And  softer  flame ; 
But  thoughtless  follies  laid  him  low. 

And  stained  his  name ! '' 


>  John  Bushby. 

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TOVB  IN   SCOTLAND.  S17 

The  churchyard  is  full  of  grave-stones  and  expensive 
monuments  in  all  sorts  of  fantastic  shapes  -^  obelisk-wise, 
pillar- wise,  &c.' 

*When  our  guide  had  left  us,  we  turned  again  to 
Bums's  house.  Mrs.  Bums  was  not  at  home,  being  gone 
to  spend  some  time  by  the  sea-shore  with  her  children. 
We  spoke  to  the  servant-maid  at  the  door,  who  invited  us 
in,  and  we  sat  down  in  the  parlour.  The  walls  were  washed 
with  a  blue  wash ;  on  one  side  of  the  fire  was  a  mahog* 
any  desk,  opposite  the  window  a  clock,  and  over  the  desk 
a  print  from  the  "  Cotter's  Saturday  Night,"  which  Bums 
mentions  in  one  of  his  letters  having  received  as  a  present. 
The  house  was  cleanly  and  neat  in  the  inside,  the  stairs, 
of  stone,  scoured  white,  the  kitchen  on  the  right  side  of 
the  passage,  the  parlour  on  the  left.  In  the  room  above 
the  parlour  Bums  died,  and  his  son  after  him.  The  ser* 
vent  told  us  she  had  lived  five  years  with  Mrs.  Bums,  who 
was.  now  in  great  sorrow  for  the  death  of  ^^Wallace^ 
She  said  that  Mrs.  Burns's  youngest  son  was  at  Christ's 
Hospital. 

*  We  were  glad  to  leave  Dumfries,  which  is  no  cheerful 
place  to  them  who  do  not  love  the  bustle  of  a  town  that 
seems  to  be  rising  up  into  wealth.  I  could  think  of  little 
but  poor  Burns,  and  his  moving  about  on  that  ^'  unpoetic 
ground."  In  our  road  to  Brownhill,  the  next  stage  we 
passed  Ellisland,  at  a  little  distance  on  our  right,  his  farm- 
house :  this  we  might  have  had  more  pleasure  in  looking 
at,  if  we  had  been  near  enough  to  it ;  but  there  is  no 
thought  surviving  in  connection  with  Burns's  daily  life  that 
is  not  heart-depressing.  Travelled  through  the  vale  of 
Nith,  which  is  here  little  like  a  vale  ;  it  is  so  broad,  with 
irregular  hills  rising  up  on  each  side,  in  outline  resembling 
the  valances  of  a  bed.' 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  '  C 


2)8  TOVE  IX  BCOTLAMD. 

^Crossed  the  Frith.  The  vale  becomes  nanow  and 
very  pleasant ;  corn-fields,  gfeen  hills,  clay  cottages ;  the 
river^s  bed  rocky,  with  woody  banks.  Left  the  Nith  about 
a  mile  and  a  half,  and  reached  Brownhill :  a  lonely  inn 
where  we  slept' 

^  I  cannot  take  leave  of  the  country  which  we  passed 
through  to-day  without  mentioning  that  we  saw  the  Cum- 
berland mountains  within  half  a  mile  of  Ellisland  (Bums's 
bouse),  the  last  view  we  had  of  them.  Drayton  has  pret- 
tily  described  the  connection  which  the  neighbourhood  has 
with  ours,  when  he  makes  Skiddaw  say, 

"  ScurfeU  from  the  sky 
That  Annandale  doth  crown,  with  a  most  amorous  eye. 
Salutes  me  every  day,  or  at  my  pride  looks  grim, 
Oft  threatening  me  with  clouds,  as  I  oft  threatening  him." 

These  lines  recurred  to  Wm.'s  memory;  and  while  he 
and  I  were  talking  of  Bums,  and  the  prospect  he  must 
have  had,  perhaps  from  his  own  door,  of  Skiddaw  and  his 
companions,  we  indulged  ourselves  in  fancying  that  we 
might  have  been  personally  known  to  each  other,  and  he 
have  looked  upon  those  objects  with  more  pleasure  for  our 
sakes.  We  talked  of  Coleridge's  children  and  family, 
then  at  the  foot  of  Skiddaw,  and  our  own  new-bom  John 
a  few  miles  behind  it ;  and  the  grave  of  Burns's  son, 
which  we  had  just  seen,  by  the  side  of  that  of  his  father ; 
and  some  stories  we  had  heard  at  Dumfries,  respecting  the 
dangers  which  his  surviving  children  were  exposed  to, 
filled  us  with  melancholy  concern,  which  had  a  kind  of 
connection  with  ourselves,  and  with  thoughts  some  of 
which  were  afterwards  expressed  in  the  following  sup-, 
posed  address  to  the  sons  of  the  ill-fated  Poet :  — 

"  Ye  now  are  panting  up  life's  hill ! 
*T  is  twilight  time  of  good  and  ill." » 

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TOUE   IN   SCOTLAND.  319 

*  Friday^  August  IWi,,  —  William  wad  not  well  to-day. 
Open  country  for  a  considerable  way.     Passed  through 

Thomhill,  a  village   built  by  the   Duke   of ;    the 

brother-houses  so  small  that  they  might  have  been  built 
to  stamp  a  character  of  insolent  pride  on  his  own  huge 
mansion  of  Drumlanrigg,  which  is  full  in  view  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Nith.  This  mansion  is  indeed  very 
large ;  but  to  us  it  appeared  like  a  gathering  together  of 
little  things :  the  roof  is  broken  into  a  hundred  pieces, 
cupolas,  &c.,  in  the  shape  of  casters,  conjurer^s  balls^ 
cups,  &c.  &c.  The  situation  would  be  noble  if  the  woods 
had  been  lefl  standing  ;  but  they  have  been  cut  down  not 
long  ago,'and  the  hills  above  and  below  the  house  are  left 
quite  bare. 

*  About  a  mile  and  a  half  from  Drumlanrigg  is  a  turn* 
pike-gate,  at  the  top  of  a  hill.  We  left  our  carriage  with 
the  man,  and  turned  aside  into  a  iield,  whence  we  looked 
down  upon  the  Nith,  which  runs  far  below  in  a  deep  and 
rocky  channel ;  the  banks  woody.  The  view  was  pleasant 
down  the  river  towards  Thomhill ;  an  open  country,  com* 
fields,  pastures,  and  scattered  trees.' 

*  Travelled  along  a  common  for  some  miles  before  we 
joined  the  great  road  from  Longtown  to  Glasgow.' 

*  Left  Douglas  Mill  at  about  three  o'clock.  Travelled 
through  an  open  com  country ;  the  tracts  of  com  large 
and  uninclosed.' 

*  We  came  to  a  moorish  tract.  Saw  before  us  the  hills 
of  Loch  Lomond ;  Ben  Lomond  and  another  distinct  by 
themselves.' 

*  Travelled  for  some  miles  along  the  open  country, 
which  was  all  without   hedge*rows,  son^etimes  arable, 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


S20  TOI7E  IN    SCOTUUTD. 

sometimes  moorish,  and  often  whole  tracts  covered  with 
grunsel.' 

*  After  Wm.  had  left  us  he  had  taken  a  wrong  road ; 
and  while  he  was  looking  ahout  to  set  himself  right,  had 
met  with  a  hare-footed  boy,  who  said  he  would  go  with 
him.  The  little  fellow  carried  him  by  a  wild  path  to  the 
upper  of  the  falls,  the  Boniton  Linn ;  and  coming  down 
unexpectedly  upon  it,  he  was  exceedingly  affected  by  the 
solemn  grandeur  of  the  place.  This  fall  is  not  much 
admired,  or  spoken  of  by  travellers :  you  have  never  a 
full  breast-view  of  it ;  it  does  not  make  a  complete  self^ 
satisfying  place,  an  abode  of  its  own,  as  a  perfect  water* 
fall  seems  to  me  to  do ;  but  the  river,  down  which  you 
look  through  a  long  vista  of  steep  and  ruin-like  rocks,  the 
roaring  of  the  waterfall,  and  the  solemn  evening. lights, 
must  have  been  most  impressive.  One  of  the  rocks  on 
the  near  bank,  even  in  broad  daylight,  as  we  saw  it  the 
next  morning,  is  exactly  like  the  fractured  arch  of  an 
abbey :  with  the  lights  and  shadows  of  evening  upon  it, 
the  resemblance  must  have  been  much  more  striking* 
His  guide  was  a  pretty  boy,  and  Wm.  was  exceedingly 
pleased  with  him.' 

*He  conducted  Wm.  to  the  other  fall;  and  as  they 
were  going  along  a  narrow  path  they  came  to  a  small 
cavern,  where  Wm.  lost  him,  and,  looking  about,  saw  his 
pretty  figure  in  a  sort  of  natural  niche  fitted  for  a  statue, 
from  which  the  boy  jumped  out,  laughing,  delighted  with 
the  success  of  his  trick.  Wm.  told  us  a  great  deal  about 
him,  while  we  sat  by  the  fire,  and  of  the  pleasure  of  his 
walk,  often  repeating,  "  I  wish  you  had  been  with  me  !  " ' 

*•  The  banks  of  the  Clyde  from  Lanark  to  the  falls  rise 

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TOVn  IN  SCOTLAND.  321 

immediately  from  the  river :  they  are  lofty  and  steep,  and 
covered  with  wood.  The  road  to  the  falls  is  along  the  top 
of  one  of  the  banks ;  and  to  the  left  you  have  a  prospect 
of  the  open  country,  corn-fields,  and  scattered  houses. 
To  the  right,  over  the  river,  the  country  spreads  out,  as  it 
were,  into  a  plain  covered  over  with  hills,  no  one  hill 
much  higher  than  another,  but  hills  all  over.' 

*  We  walked,  after  we  had  entered  the  private  grounds 
through  the  gate,  perhaps  200  yards  upon  a  gravel  car- 
riage-road, then  came  to  a  little  side-gate  that  opened  on 
a  narrow  gravel  path  under  trees,  and  in  a  minute  and  a 
half  or  less  we  came  directly  opposite  to  the  great  water- 
fall. I  was  much  affected  by  the  first  view  of  it.  The 
majesty  and  strength  of  the  water  (for  I  had  never  before 
seen  so  large  a  waterfall)  struck  me  with  a  kind  of  stupid 
wonder.' 

*  The  waterfall  (Cora  Linn)  is  composed  of  two  falls, 
with  a  sloping  space  which  appears  to  be  about  twenty 
yards  between,  but  is  much  more.  The  basin  which  re- 
ceives the  fall  is  inclosed  by  noble  rocks,  with  trees, 
chiefly  hazels,  birch,  and  ashes,  growing  out  of  their  sides 
wherever  there  is  any  hold  for  them ;  and  a  magnificent 
resting-place  it  is  for  such  a  river,  —  I  think  much  more 
grand  than  the  falls  themselves.  After  having  stayed 
some  time,  we  returned  by  the  same  foot-path  into  the 
main  carriage-road,  and  soon  came  upon  what  Wm.  calls 
an  ell-wide  gravel  walk,  from  which  we  had  different 
views  of  the  linn.  We  sat  upon  a  bench,  placed  for  the 
sake  of  one  of  these  views,  whence  we  looked  down  upon 
the  waterfall  and  over  the  open  country,  and  saw  a  ruined 
tower,  called  Wallace's  Tower,  which  stands  at  a  very 
little  distance  from  the  fall,  and  is  an  interesting  object. 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ IC 


992  TOVK  IN  SCOTLAND. 

A  lady  and  gentleman,  more  expeditious  toarists  titan  we, 
came  to  the  spot ;  they  left  us  at  the  seat,  and  we  found 
them  again  at  another  station  above  the  falls.  C,  who  is 
always  good-natured  enough  to  enter  into  c^mversation 
with  anybody  whom  he  meets  in  his  way,  began  to  talk 
with  the  gentleman,  who  observed  that  it  was  a  ^'^me^estic 
waterfall.^'  C.  was  delighted  with  the  accuracy  of  the 
epithet,  particularly  as  he  had  been  settling  in  his  own 
mind  the  precise  meaning  of  the  words  grand,  majestic, 
sublime,  &c.,  and  had  discussed  the  subject  with  Wm.  at 
some  length  the  day  before.  "  Yes,  sir,"  said  C,  "  it  is 
a  majestic  waterfall."  ^'Sublime  and  beautiful,"  replied 
his  friend.  Poor  C.  could  make  no  answer  ;  and,  not  very 
desirous  to  continue  the  conversation,  soon  came  to  us, 
and  related  the  circumstance,  laughing  heartily.' 

'  After  dinner  set  off  towards  Hamilton,  but  on  foot,  for 
we  had  to  turn  aside  to  the  Cartland  rocks,  and  our  car 
was  to  meet  us  on  the  road.  A  guide  attended  us,  who 
might  almost  in  size,  and  certainly  in  activity,  have  been 
compared  with  Wm/s  companion  who  hid  himself  in  the 
niche  of  the  cavern.' 

*Our  guide  pointed  to  the  situation  of  the  Cartland 
crags.  We  were  to  cross  a  narrow  valley,  and  walk 
down  on  the  other  side,  and  then  we  should  be  at  the 
spot ;  but  the  little  fellow  made  a  sharp  turn  down  a  foot- 
path to  the  left,  saying,  "  We  must  have  some  conversa- 
tion here."  He  paddled  with  his  little  pawing  feet  till  we 
came  right  opposite  a  gentleman's  house  on  the  other  side 
of  the  valley,  when  he  halted,  repeating  some  words  (I 
have  forgotten  what),  which  were  taken  up  by  the  most 
distinct  echo  I  ever  heard :  this  is  saying  very  little ;  it 
was  the  most  distinct  echo  that  it  is  possible  to  conceive.' 

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TOUE  IN   SGOTLAKD.  223 

*  We  had  been  told  that  the  Cartlaiid  rocks  were  better 
worth  going  to  see  than  the  falls  of  the  Clyde ;  but  I  did 
not  think  so ;  besides,  I  have  seen  places  resembling  it 
before,  with  clear  water  instead  of  that  muddy  stream ; 
and  I  never  saw  any  thing  like  the  falls  of  the  Clyde.  It 
would  be  a  delicious  spot  to  have  near  one's  own  house; 
one  would  linger  out  many  a  long  day  in  the  cool  shade  of 
the  caverns  under  the  rocks  ;  and  the  stream  would  soothe 
CHie  by  its  murmuring,  till,  being  an  old  friend,  one  would 
not  love  it  the  less  for  its  homely  face.  Even  we,  as  we 
passed,  along,  could  not  help  stopping  for  a  long  time  to 
admire  the  beauty  of  the  lazy  foam,  for  ever  in  motion 
and  never  moved  away,  in  a  still  place  of  the  water,  cov- 
ering the  whole  surface  of  it  with  streaks  and  lines  and 
ever- varying  circles.  Wild  maijoram  grew  upon  the 
rocks  in  great  perfection  and  beauty.  Our  guide  gave 
me  a  bunch,  and  said  he  should  come  hither  to  collect  a 
store  for  tea  for  the  winter,  and  that  it  was  ^*  varra  hdle^ 
$ome  "  —  he  drank  none  else.  We  walked,  perhaps,  half 
a  mile  along  the  bed  of  the  river ;  but  it  might  seem  to  be 
much  further  than  it  was,  owing  to  the  difficulty  of  the 
path,  and  the  sharp  and  many  turnings  of  the  glen. 
Passed  two  of  Wallace's  caves.  There  is  scarce  a  noted 
glen  in  Scotland  that  has  not  a  cave  for  Wallace  or  some 
other  hero.*  • 

*  Travelled  through  the  vale,  or  Drough  of  the  Clyde, 
as  it  is  called,  for  ten  or  eleven  miles,  having  the  river  to 
our  right.  We  had  fine  views,  both  up  and  down  the 
river,  for  the  first  three  or  four  miles,  our  road  being  not 
close  to  it,'hut  above  its  banks,  along  the  open  country, 
which  was  here  occasionally  intersected  by  hedge-rows.* 

•  [See  'Tftc  JhrehuU,'  Book  i.  p.  12.— b.  b.] 

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S84  TOUB  Ilf  SOOTUUffO. 

^  We  saw  the  fall  from  the  top  of  the  bank  of  the  river 
at  a  little  distance.  Tt  has  not  the  imposing  majesty  of 
Cora  Linn,  but  then  it  is  left  to  itself,  a  grand  solitude  in 
the  heart  of  a  populous  country.  We  had  a  prospect 
above  and  below  it  of  cultivated  grounds,  with  houses, 
haystacks,  hills;  but  the  river's  banks  were  lonesome,* 
steep,  and  woody,  with  rocks  neivr  the  fall.  A  little  fur^ 
ther  on  came  more  in  company  with  the  river ;  sometimes 
we  were  close  to  it,  sometimes  above  it,  but  always  at 
no  great  distance ;  and  now  the  vale  became  more  inter* 
esting  and  amusing.  It  is  very  populous,  with  villages, 
hamlets,  single  cottages  or  farm-houses  embosomed  in 
orchards,  and  scattered  over  with  gentlemen's  houses, 
some  of  them  very  ugly,  tall,  and  obtrusive,  others  neat 
and  comfortable.' 

^  Monday^  August  U2d.  —  Immediately  afler  breakfast 
walked  to  the  Duke  of  Hamilton's  house  to  view  the 
picture-gallery,  chiefly  the  famous  picture  of  Daniel  in 
the  Lion^s  Den,  by  Rubens.  It  is  a  large  building  without 
grandeur,  a  heavy  lumpish  mass,  after  the  fashion  of  the 
Hopetoun  House,  only  five  times  the  size,  and  with  far 
longer  legs,  which  makes  it  gloomy.  We  entered  the 
gate,  passed  the  porter's  lodge,  where  we  saw  nobody, 
and  stopped  at  the  front  door,  as  William  had  done  two 
years  before  with  Sir  Wm.  Rush's  family.' 

'  The  Clyde  is  here  an  open  river  with  low  banks,  and 
the  country  spreads  out  so  yjride  that  there  is  no  appear- 
ance of  a  regular  vale.  Baroncleugh  is  in  a  beautiful 
steep  glen,  through  which  runs  the  river  Avon,  a  stream 
that  falls  into  the  Clyde.  The  house  stands  very  sweetly 
in  complete  retirement :  it  has  its  gardens  and  terraces 
one  above  another,  with  flights  of  steps  between,  box-trees 

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TOVE^IN   SOOTLAIVIK  S2§ 

and  yew-trees  cut  in  fantastic  shapes,  flower*borders  and 
summer-houses,  and  helow,  apples  and  pears  were  still 
hanging  in  abundance  on  the  branches  of  large  old  trees, 
w^hich  grew  intermingled  with  the  natural  wood,  elms, 
beeches,  &c.,  even  to  the  water's  edge.     The  whole  place 
'is  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  taste  of  our  ancestors  ;  and 
the  yews  and  hollies  are  shaven  as  nicely,  and  the  gravel* 
vralks  and  flower-borders  kept  in  as  exact  order,  as  if  the 
spirit  of  the  first  architect  of  the  terraces  still  presided 
oyer  them.     The  opposite  bank  of  the  river  is  left  in  its 
natural  wildness,  and  nothing  was  to  be  seen  higher  up 
but  the  deep  dell,  its  steep  banks  being  covered  with  fine 
trees ;  a  beautiful  relief  or  contrast  to  the  garden,  which  is 
one  of  the  most  elaborate  old  things  ever  seen  —  a  little 
hanging  garden  of  Babylon.     I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  the 
owner  of  this  sweet  place  did  not  live  there.     He  had 
built  a  small  thatched  house  to  eke  out  the  old  one :  it 
was  a  neat  dwelling,  with  no  false  ornaments.     We  were 
exceedingly  sorry  to  leave  this  spot,  which  is  left  to  nature 
and  past  times,  and  should  have  liked  to  have  pursued  the 
glen  further  up.     We  were  told  that  there  was  an  old 
ruined  castle  ;  and  the  walk  must  itself  have  been  delight- 
ful :  but  we  wished  to  reach  Glasgow  in  good  time,  and 
had  to  go  again  to  Hamilton  House.' 

*  Left  Hamilton  at  about  eleven  o'clock.  There  is  no- 
thing interesting  between  Hamilton  and  Glasgow  till  we 
come  to  Bothwell  Castle,  a  few  miles  from  Hamilton. 
The  country  is  cultivated  but  not  rich,  the  fields  large,  a 
perfect  contrast  to  the  huddling  together  of  hills  and  trees, 
corn  and  pasturage,  hay-stacks,  cottages,  orchards,  broom 
and  gorse,  (but  chiefly  broom,)  that  amused  us  so  much 
the  evening  before  in  passing  through  t)i6  Trough  of  the 
Clyde.     A  native  of  Scotland  would  not,  probably,  be 

VOL.  1.  15  r  I 

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MUkfied  with  the  account  I  have  given  of  die  Troagk  of 
the  Clyde,  for  it  is  one  of  the  most  celebrated  scenes  in 
Scotland.  We  certainly  received  less  pleasure  from  it 
Ihan  we  had  expected;  but  it  was  plain  that  this  was 
chiefly  owing,  though  not  entirely,  to  the  onfavouiahle 
cireurostances  under  which  we  saw  it ;  a  gloomy  sky  and- 
a  cold  blighting  wind.  It  is  a  very  beautiful  district,  yet 
there,  as  in  all  the  other  scenes  of  Scotland  celebrated  for 
Iheir  fertility,  we  found  something  which  gave  us  a  notion 
of  barrenness  and  of  what  was  not  altogether  genial.  The 
new  fir  and  larch  plantations  had,  as  in  almost  every  other 
part  of  Scotland,  contributed  not  a  little  to  this  effect. 
Crossed  the  Clyde  not  far  from  Hamilton,  and  had  the 
river,  for  some  miles,  at  a  distance  from  us  on  the  left ; 
but  after  having  gone,  it  might  be,  three  miles,  we  came 
to  a  porter's  lodge  on  the  left  side  of  the  road,  where  we 
were  to  turn  to  Bothwell  Castle,  which  is  in  Lord  Doug- 
lases grounds.' 

*  We  saw  the  ruined  castle  embosomed  in  trees ;  passed 
the  house,  and  soon  found  ourselves  upon  the  edge  of  a 
steep  brow,  immediately  above  and  overlooking  the  course 
of  the  river  Clyde,  through  a  deep  hollow,  between  woods 
and  green  steeps.  We  had  approached  at  right  angles 
from  the  main  road  to  this  place,  over  a  flat,  and  had  seen 
nothing  before  us  but  a  nearly  level  country,  terminated 
by  distant  slopes,  the  Clyde  hiding  himself  in  his  deep 
bed.  It  was  exceedingly  delightful  to  come  thus  unex- 
pectedly upon  such  a  beautiful  region.  The  castle  stands 
nobly,  overlooking  the  Clyde  ;  when  we  came  to  it,  I  was 
hurt  to  see  that  flower-borders  had  taken  place  of  the 
natural  overgrowings  of  the  ruin,  the  scattered  stones  and 
wild  plants.  It  is  a  large  and  grand  pile,  of  red  freestone, 
liannonizing  perfectly  with  the  rocks  of  the  river,  from 

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TOVE  IN   SCOTLAND.  UStt 

which  BO  doubt  it  has  been  hewn.  When  I  was  a  little 
accustomed  to  the  utinaturaln^ss  of  a  modem  garden  I 
could  not  help  admiring  the  excessive  beauty  and  luxuri- 
"ance  of  some  of  the  plants,  particularly  the  purple-flow- 
ered clematis,  and  a  broad-leayed  creeping  plant,  without 
'  Ikywers,  which  scrambled  up  the  c&^tle-wall  along  with  the 
hry,  and  spread  its  vine-like  branches  so  Javishly  that  it 
seemed  to' be  in  its  natural  situation;  and  one  could  not 
help  thinking  that,  though  not  self-planted  in  the  ruins  of 
this  country,  it  must,  somewhere,  have  its  native  abode  in 
such  places.' 

^  Tuesdap^  August  23^.  —  A  cold  morning.  Walked  to 
the  bleaching  ground,  a  large  field,  bordering  on  the  Clyd^, 
the  banks  of  which  are  here  perfectly  flat,  and  the  general 
face  of  the  country  is  nearly  so  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Glasgow.  This  field,  the  whole  summer  through,  is  cov- 
ered with  women  of  all  ages,  children,  and  young  giris, 
spreading  out  the  linen,  or  watching  it  while  it  bleaches ; 
the  sight  of  them  must  be  very  cheerful  on  a  fine  day,  but 
it  rained  when  we  were  there,  and  though  there  was  linen 
spread  out  in  all  parts,  and  great  numbers  of  women  and 
girls  were  at  work,  yet  there  would  have  been  far  more  on 
a  fine  day,  and  they  would  have  appeared  happy,  instead 
of  stupid  and  cheerless.  In  the  middle  of  the  field  is  a 
large  wash-house,  whither  the  inhabitants  of  this  large 
town,  rich  and  poor,  send  or  carry  their  linen  to  be  washed. 
There  are  two  very  large  rooms,  with  each  a  cistern  in  the 
middle  for  hot  water,  and  all  round  the  room  are  benches 
foT  the  women  to  set  their  tubs  upon.  Both  the  rooms 
were  crowded  with  washers,  there  might  be  a  hundred,  or 
two,  or  even  three  ;  for  it  is  not  easy  to  fona  an  accurate 
notion  of  so  great  a  number.' 

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228  TOtrS  IN  SCOTLAND. 

*  Dined  and  left  Glasgow  at  three  o^clock  in  a  hea^y 


*  We  saw  the  Clyde,  now  a  stately  sea  river,  winding 
away  mile  after  mile,  spotted  with  boats  and  ships  ;  each 
side  of  the  river  hilly,  fhe  right  populous,  with  sringle 
houses  and  villages  ;  Dunglass  Castle  upon  a  promontory; 
the  whole  view  terminated  by  the  rock  of  Dumbarton,  at 
five  or  six  miles  distance,  which  stands  by  itself  without 
any  hills  near  it,  like  a  wild  sea-rock.  We  travelled  for 
some  time  near  the  river,  passing  through  clusters  of 
houses  which  seemed  to  owe  their  existence  to  the  wealth 
of  the  river,  rather  than  the  land,  for  the  banks  were  most- 
ly bare,  and  the  soil  appeared  to  be  poor,  even  near  the 
water.  The  left  side  of  the  river  was  generally  unin- 
habited and  moorish,  yet  there  are  some  beautiful  spots ; 
for  instance,  a  nobleman's  house  where  the  fields  and  trees 
are  rich,  and  in  combination  with  the  river  look  very  love- 
ly. As  we  went  along,  William  and  I  were  reminded  of 
the  views  upon  the  Thames  in  Kent,  which,  though  greatly 
superior  in  richness  and  softness,  are  much  inferior  in 
grandeur.  Not  far  from  Dumbarton  we  passed  under  some 
rocky  copse-covered  hills,  which  were  so  like  some  of  the 
hills  near  Grasmere  that  we  could  have  half  believed  they 
were  the  same.  Arrived  at  Dumbarton  before  it  was 
dark.' 

'  Wednesday y  August  2ith.  —  As  soon  as  breakfast  was 
over,  William  and  I  walked  towards  the  castle,  a  short 
mile  from  the  town.  We  overtook  two  young  men  who, 
on  our  asking  the  road,  offered  to  conduct  us,  though,  as  it 
might  seem,  it  was  not  easy  to  miss  our  way,  for  the  rock 
rises  singly  by  itself  from  the  plain  oil  which  the  town 
stands.     The  rock  of  Dumbarton  is  very  grand  when  you 


1 


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TOUR  IN  SCOTUUfD.  239 

are  close  t6  it ;  but  at  a  little  distance,  under  an  ordinary 
sky,  £uid  in  open  day,  it  is  not  grand,  but  strange  and  curi- 
ously wild.  The  castle  and  fortifications  add  little  effect 
to  the  general  view  of  the  rock,  especially  since  the  build- 
ing of  a  modern  house,  which  is  whitewashed,  and  conse- 
quently jars,  wherever  it.  is  seen,  with  the  natural  character 
of  the  place.  There  is  a  path  up  to  the  house,  but  it 
being  low  water,  we  could  walk  round  the  rock,  which  we 
determined  to  do.  On  that  side  next  the  town,  green  grass 
grows  to  a  considerable  height  up  the  rock,  but  wherever 
the  river  borders  upon  it,  it  is  naked  stone.  I  never  saw 
xock  in  nobler  masses  or  more  deeply  stained  by  time  and 
weather ;  nor  is  this  to  be  wondered  at,  for  it  is  in  the  very 
oye  of  sea  storms  and  land  storms,  of  mountain  winds  and 
water  winds.  It  is  of  all  colours,  but  a  misty  yellow  pre- 
dominates. As  we  walked  along  we  could  not  but  look 
up  continually,  and  the  mass  above  being  on  every  side  so 
huge,  it  appeared  more  wonderful  than  when  we  saw  the 
whole  together.  We  sat  down  on  one  of  the  large  stones 
whkih  lie  scattered  near  the  base  of  the  rock,  with  sea- 
weed growing  amongst  them.  Above  our  heads  the  rock 
was  perpendicular  for  a  considerable  height,  nay,  as  it 
seemed,  to  the  very  top ;  and  on  the  brink  of  the  preci- 
pice a  few  sheep  (two  of  them  rams  with  twisted  horns) 
stood  as  if  on  the  look-out  over  the  wide  country.' 

'  The  road  to  a  considerable  height  is  through  a  narrow 
clefl  in  which  a  flight  of  steps  is  hewn  ;  the  steps  nearly 
fill  it,  and  on  each  side  the  rocks  form  a  high  and  irregu- 
lar wfidl :  it  is  almost  like  a  long  sloping  cavern,  only  that 
it  is  roofed  by  the  sky  instead  of  stone.  We  came  to  the 
barracks ;  soldiers'  wives  were  hanging  out  linen  upon  the 
rails,  while  the  wind  was  beating  about  them  furiously ; 
there  was  nothing  which  it  could  set  in  motion  but  the 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


3S0  TOtTE  IN  SCOTLAKB. 

garments  of  the  women  and  the  linen  on  the  rails.  The 
grass  (for  we  had  now  come  to  green  grass)  was  close  and 
smooth,  and  not  one  Made  an  inch  above  another,  and 
neither  tree  nor  shrub.  The  standard  pole  stood  erect 
without  a  flag.  The  rock  has  two  summits,  one  much 
higher  and  broader  than  the  other.  When  we  were  near 
to  the  top  of  the  lower  eminence,  we  had  the  pleasure  of 
finding  a  little  garden  of  flowers  and  vegetables  belonging 
to  the  soldiers.  There  are  three  distinct  and  very  noble 
prospects;  the  first,  up  the  Clyde  towards  Glasgow,— 
Dunglass  Castle  seen  on  its  promontory,  boats,  sloops,  hills, 
and  many  buildings ;  the  second,  down  the  river  to  the 
sea,  —  Greenock  and  Port  Glasgow,  ships  and  the  distant 
mountains  at  the  entrance  of  Loch  Long ;  and  the  third 
extensive  and  distinct  view  is  up  the  Leven  (which  here' 
falls  into  the  Clyde)  to  the  mountains  of  Loch  Lomond. 
The  distant  mountains  in  all  these  views  were  obscured  by 
mists  and  dingy  clouds ;  but  if  the  grand  outline  of  any 
one  of  the  views  can  be  seen,  it  is  a  sufficient  recompense 
for  the  trouble  of  climbing  the  rock  of  Dumbarton.' 

^  Saturday^  August  27th,  —  At  Glengyle.  Mrs.  Mac- 
farlane,  who  was  very  diffident  and  no  great  talker,  ex- 
claimed, "  He  was  a  good  man,  Rob  Roy !  "  He  had 
only  been  dead  about  eighty  years,  had  lived  in  the  next 
feirm,  which  belonged  to  him,  and  there  his  bones  were 
laid.  He  was  a  famous  swordsman.  Having  an  arm 
longer  than  other  men,  he  had  a  greater  command  with 
his  sword  ;  as  a  proof  of  this,  they  told  us,  that  he  could 
garter  his  tartan  stockings  below  the  knee  without  stoop- 
ing, and  added  a  dozen  different  stories  of  single  combats 
which  he  had  fought,  all  in  perfect  good  humour,  merely 
to  prove  his  prowess.  I  dare  say  they  had  stories  of  this 
kind  which  would  hardly  have  been  exhausted  in  the  long 

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TOUS  I»   eCOTLANO^  381 

eveniiigs  of  a  whole  December  week ;  Eob  Boy  being  afli 
fiii»Qus  bere  as  even  Robin  Hood  was  in  the  forest  of  Sher* 
^WQod :  he  also  robbed  from  the  rich,  giving  to  the  poor, 
and  defending  them  from  oppression.  They  tell  of  hk 
confining  the,  factor  of  the  Duke  of  Montrose  in  one  of  the 
islands  of  Loch  Katrine,  after  having  taken  his  money 
fiom  him  (the  duke^s  rents)  in  open  day,  while  they  were 
sitting  at  t|ible.  He  was  a  formidable  enemy  of  the  duke» 
but  being  a  small  laird  against  a  greater,  was  overcome  at 
last,  and  forced  to  resign  all  his  lands  on  the  braes  of 
Loch  Lomond,  including  the  caves,  which  we  visited,  on 
account  of  the  money  he  had  taken  from  the  duke  and 
could  not  repay.  When  breakfast  was  ended,  the  mistress 
desired  the  person  whom  we  took  to  be  her  husband,  ''  ta 
vetum  thanks  :  ^'  he  said  a  short  grace,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes they  all  went  off  to  their  work.  We  saw  them  about 
the  doors,  following  one  another  like  a  flock  of  sheep« 
with  the  children  afler,  whatever  job  they  were  engaged 
in*  Mrs.  Macfarlane  told  me  she  would  show  me  the 
burying-place  of  the  lairds  of  Glengyle,  and  took  me  to  a 
square  enclosure  like  a  pinfold,  with  a  stone  ball  at  every 
comer :  we  had  noticed  it  the  night  before,  and  wondered 
what  it  could  be.  It  was  in  the  middle  of  a  planting,  as 
they  call  plantations,  which  was  enclosed  for  the  preserva- 
tion of  the  trees ;  therefore  we  had  to  climb  over  a  high 
wall.  It  was  a  dismal  spot,  with  four  or  five  graves  over* 
grown  with  long  grass,  nettles,  and  brambles.  Against 
the  wall  was  a  marble  monument  to  the  memory  of  one 
of  the  lairds,  of  whom  they  had  spoken  with  veneration. 
Some  English  verses  were  inscribed  upon  the  marble,  pur- 
porting that  he  had  been  the  father  of  his  clan,  a  brave 
and  good  man.'  * 

^  It  was  ten  o'clock  when  we  departed.   We  had  learned 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


TOUE  IN   BCOTLAlflK 

diat  there  was  a  ferry-boat  three  miles  farther,  and  if  the 
man  was  at  home  he  would  row  us  down  the  lake  to  the 
Trosachs.  Our  walk  was  mostly  through  coppice-woods 
along  a  horse-road  where  narrow  carts  might  travel. 
Passed  that  white  house  which  had  looked  at  us  with 
such  a  friendly  face  when  we  were  on  the  other  side ;  it 
stood  on  the  slope  of  a  hill  with  green  pastures ;  below  it, 
plots  of  com  and  coppice-wood ;  and  behind,  a  rocky 
steep  covered  with  wood.  It  was  a  very  pretty  place,  but 
the  morning  being  cold  and  dull,  the  opposite  shore  ap- 
peared dreary.  Near  the  white  house  we  passed  another 
of  those  little  pinfold  squares,  which  we  knew  to  be  a 
burying-place ;  it  was  in  a  sloping  green  field  among 
woods,  and  within  the  sound  of  the  beating  of  the  water 
against  the  shore,  if  there  were  but  a  gentle  breeze  to  stir 
it.  I  thought  if  I  lived  in  that  house,  and  my  ancestors 
and  kindred  were  buried  there,  I  should  sit  for  many  an 
hour  under  the  walls  of  this  plot  of  earth  where  all  the 
household  would  be  gathered  together.  We  found  the 
ferryman  at  work  in  the  field  above  his  hut,  and  he  was  at 
liberty  to  go  with  us,  but,  being  wet  and  hungry,  we 
begged  that  he  would  let  us  sit  by  his  fire  till  we  had* 
refreshed  oursfelves.  This  was  the  first  genuine  Highland 
hut  we  had  been  in ;  we  entered  by  the  cow-house,  the 
house  door  being  within  at  right  angles  to  the  outer  door. 
The  woman  was  exceedingly  distressed  that  she  had  a  bad 
fire,  but  she  heaped  up  some  dry  peats  and  heather,  and 
blowing  it  with  her  breath,  in  a  short  time  raised  a  blaze 
that  scorched  us  into  comfortable  feelings.  A  small  part 
of  the  smoke  found  its  way  out  of  the  hole  of  the  chim- 
ney, the  rest  through  the  open  window-places,  one  of 
which  was  within  Ihe  recess  of  the  fire-place,  and  made  a 
frame  to  a  little  picture  of  the  restless  lake  and  the  oppo- 
site shore,  seen  when  the  outer  door  was  open.     The 

Digitized  byCjOOQlC 


TOUE   IK  SOOTUkKB.  8t§ 

woman  of  the  house  was  very  kind ;  whenever  we  asked 
bear  for  anything  it  seemed  a  fresh  pleasure  to  her  that  she 
had  it  for  us ;  she  always  answered  with  a  softening  dowa 
of  the  Scotch  exclamation  hoot, "  Ho !  yes,  ye'll  get  that," 
&nd  hied  to  the  cupboard  in  the  spence/ 

*  August  2Sth.  —  When  we  were  beginning  to  descend 
the  hill  towards  Loch  Lomond,  we  overtook  two  girls, 
who  told  us  we  could  not  cross  the  ferry  till  evening,  for 
the  boat  was  gone  with  a  number  of  people  to  church. 
One  of  the  girls  was  exceedingly  beautiful ;  and  the 
figures  of  both  of  them,  in  grey  plaids  falling  to  their 
feet,  their  faces  only  being  uncovered,  excited  our  atten- 
tion before  we  spoke  to  them ;  but  they  answered  us  so 
sweetly  that  we  were  quite  delighted,  at  the  same  time 
that  they  stared  at  us  with  an  innocent  look  of  wonder.  I 
think  I  never  heard  the  English  language  sound  more 
sweetly  than  from  the  mouth  of  the  elder  of  these*  girls, 
while  she  stood  at  the  gate  answering  our  inquiries,  her 
face  flushed  with  the  rain :  her  pronunciation  was  clear 
and  distinct,  without  difficulty,  yet  slow,  as  if  like  a  for- 
eign speech.  They  told  us  that  we  might  sit  in  the  ferry- 
house  till  the  return  of  the  boat^  went  in  with  us,  and 
made  a  good  fire  as  fast  as  possible  to  dry  our  wet  clothes. 
We  learnt  that  the  taller  was  the  sister  of  the  ferryman, 
and  had  been  left  in  charge  with  the  house  for  the  day ; 
that  the  other  was  the  wife's  sister,  and  was  come  with 
her  mother  on  a  visit,  an  old  woman  who  sat  in  a  comer 
beside  the  cradle  nursing  her  little  grandchild.  We  were 
glad  to  be  housed  with  our  feet  upon  a  warm  hearth- 
stone ;  and  our  attendants  were  so  active  and  good- 
humoured  that  it  was  pleasant  to  have  to  desire  them  to 
do  anything.  The  younger  was  a  delicate  and  unhealthy 
looking  girl,  but  there  was  an  uncommon  meekness  and 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


TOUB  IN  sootlaho. 

goodneM  in  her  countenance,  with  an^air  of  prematuie 
intelligence  which  is  often  seen  in  sickly  yonng  persons. 
The  other  made  me  think  of  Peter  Bell's  Highland  girl : 

"  As  light  and  beauteoas  as  a  squirrel^ 
As  beauteous  and  as  wild/' ' 

^  We  refreshed  ourselves  and  had  time  to  get  our  clothes 
quite  dry  before  the  arrival  of  the  boat :  the  girls  could 
not  say  at  what  time  it  would  be  at  home.  On  our  asking 
them  if  the  church  was  far  off,  they  replied,  ^^  not  very 
far :  "  when  we  asked  how  far,  they  said  "  perhaps  about 
four  or  five  miles/'  I  believe  a  Church  of  England  con* 
gregation  would  hold  themselves  excused  for  non-attend* 
ance  three  parts  of  the  year  having  but  half  as  far  to  go, 
but  in  the  lonely  parts  of  Scotland  they  make  little  of  a 
journey  of  nine  or  ten  miles  to  a  preaching.' 

'  The  hospitality  we  had  met  with  at  the  two  cottages^ 
and  Mr.  Macfarlane's,  gave  us  very  favourable  impress 
sions  on  this  our  first  entrance  into  the  Highlands ;  and  at 
this  day,  the  innocent  merriment  of  the  girls,  with  their 
kindness  to  us,  and  the  beautiful  figure  and  face  of  the 
elder,  come  to  my  mind  whenever  I  think  of  the  feny- 
house  and  waterfall  of  Loch  Lomond ;  and  I  never  think 
of  the  two  girls  but  the  whole  image  of  that  romantic 
spot  is  before  me,  a  living  image,  as  it  will  be  to  my 
dying  day. 

'  The  following  Poem  was  written  by  William  not  long 
ailer  our  return  from  Scotland : 

"  Sweet  Highland  girl,  a  very  shower 
Of  beauty  is  thy  earthly  dower ! 
Twice  seven  consenting  years  have  shed 
Their  utmost  bounty  on  thy  head : 
And  these  grey  rocks  j  this  household  lawn  ; 
These  trees,  a  veil  just  half  withdrawn  j 

Digitized  byCjOOQlC 


VOVB   IN   SCOTLAKD. 

This  fall  of  water,  that  doth  make 
A  murmur  near  the  silent  lake ; 
This  little  bay,  a  quiet  road 
That  holds  in  shelter  thy  abode ; 
In  truth  together  ye  do  seem 
Like  something  fashioned  in  a  dream ; 
Such  forms  as  from  their  covert  peep 
When  earthly  cares  are  laid  asleep. 
Yet,  dream  and  vision  as  thou  art, 
I  bless  thee  with  a  human  heart : 
God  shield  thee  to  thy  latest  years ! 
I  neither  know  thee  nor  thy  peers  ; 
And  yet  my  eyes  are  filled  with  tears." ' 

*-  Another  raeny  crew  took  our  place  in  the  boat.  We 
bad  three  miles  to  walk  to  Tarbet;  it  rained,  but  not 
heavily;  the  mountains  were  not  concealed  from  us  by 
the  mists,  but  appeared  larger  and  more  grand ;  twilight 
was  coming  on,  and  the  obscurity  under  which  we  saw 
the  objects,  with  the  sounding  of  the  torrents,  kept  our 
minds  alive  and  wakeful :  all  was  solitary  and  huge ;  sky, 
water,  and  mountains  mingled  together.  While  we  were 
walking  forward,  the  road  leading  us  over  the  top  of  a 
brow,  we  all  stopped  suddenly  at  the  sound  of  a  half- 
articulate  Gaelic  hooting  from  the  field  close  to  us.  It 
came  from  a  little  boy  whom  we  could  see  on  the  hill 
between  us  and  the  lake  wrapped  up  in  a  grey  plaid.  He 
was  probably  calling  home  the  cattle  for  the  night.  Hia 
appearance  was  in  the  highest  degree  moving  to  the  im- 
agination :  mists  were  on  the  hill-sides ;  darkness  shutting 
in  upon  the  huge  avenue  of  mountains ;  torrents  roaring ; 
no  house  in  sight  to  which  the  child  might  belong ;  his 
dress,  cry,  and  appearance,  all  different  from  anything  we 
had  been  accustomed  to :  it  was  a  text,  as  William  has 
since  observed  to  me,  containing  in  itself  the  whole 
history  of  the   Highlander's  life;    his    melancholy,   hiA 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


TOUE  nc   SOOTLAKIk. 

simplicity,  his  poverty,  his  superatition,  and,  above  all, 
that  viBioDariness  which  result  from  a  communion  widi 
the  unworldlioess  of  nature.^ 

*  Monday^  August  29th.  —  It  rained  heavily  this  mora* 
ing;  and  having  heard  so  much  of  the  long  rains  since  we 
came  into  Scotland,  as  well  as  before,  we  had  no  hope 
that  it  would  be  over  in  less  than  three  weeks  at  the  least, 
so  poor  C,  being  unwell,  determined  to  send  his  clothes 
to  Edinburgh  and  make  the  best  of  his  way  thither,  being 
afraid  to  face  so  much  wet  weather.  William  and  I  were 
unwilling  to  be  confined  at  Tarbet,  so  we  resolved  to  go 
to  Arrochar,  a  mile  and  a  half  on  the  road  to  Inverary, 
where  there  is  an  inn  much  celebrated  as  a  place  of  good 
accommodation  for  travellers.  C.  and  I  set  off  on  foot, 
and  William  was  to  follow  with  the  car,  but  a  heavy  rain 
coming  on,  C.  left  me  to  shelter  in  a  hut  to  wait  for  Wil- 
liam, and  he  went  on  before.' 

*  Tkieaday,  August  SOth,  —  When  we  had  travelled  about 
seven  miles  from  Cairndow,  winding  round  the  bottom  of 
a  hill,  we  came  in  view  of  a  great  basin  or  elbow  of  the 
lake.  We  were  completely  out  of  sight  of  the  long  tract 
of  water  we  had  coasted,  and  seemed  now  to  be  on  the 
edge  of  a  very  large,  almost  circular  lake,  the  town  of 
Inverary  before  us,  a  line  of  white  buildings  on  a  promon- 
tory right  opposite  and  close  to  the  water's  edge:  the 
whole  landscape  a  showy  scene,  and  bursting  upon  us  at 
once.' 

'  The  houses  are  plastered  or  roughcast,  and  washed 
yellow,  well   built,  well   sized,  and  sash- windowed,  be- 
speaking a  connection  with  the  duke,  such  a  dependence 
as  may  be  expected  in  a  small  town  so  near  to  his  man- 
Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


TOUE  IM   SCOTIiAND. 

dlon ;  and  indeed  he  seems  to  have  done  his  utmost  to 
make  them  comfortable,  according  to  our  English  notions 
of  comfort.     They  are  houses  fit  for  people  living  de- 
cently on  a  decent  trade  ;  but  the  windows  and  doorsteads 
were  as  dirty  as  in  a  dirty  by-street  of  a  large  town,  mak- 
ing a  most  unpleasant  contrast  to  the  comely  face  of  the 
buildings  towards  the  water,  and  the  ducal  grandeur  and 
natural  festivity  of  the  scene.     Smoke  and  blackness  are 
the  wild  growth  of  a  Highland  hut ;  the  mud  floors  cannot 
be  washed  ;  the  doorsteads  are  trampled  by  cattle ;  and  if 
the  inhabitants  be  not  be  very  cleanly  it  gives  one  little 
pain :  but  dirty  people  living  in  two-storied  houses,  with 
dirty  sash-windows  are  a  melancholy  sight,  which  any 
where  but  in  Scotland  gives  the  notion  either  of  vice  (nr 
the   extreme   of  wretchedness.     Returning  through   the 
town  we  went  towards  the  castle,  and  entered  the  duke^s 
grounds  by  a  porter's  lodge,  following  the  carriage-road 
through  the  park,  which  is  prettily  scattered  over  with 
trees,  and  slopes  gently  towards  the  lake.' 

^  Behind  the  castle  all  the  hills  are  planted  to  a  great 
height,  and  the  pleasure-grounds  extend  a  considerable 
way  up  the  valley  of  Airey.  We  continued  our  walk  a 
short  way  up  the  river,  and  were  sorry  to  see  it  stripped 
of  its  natural  ornaments,  after  the  fashion  of  Mr.  Brown, 
and  left  to  tell  its  tale  (for  it  would  not  be  silent  like  the 
river  at  Blenheim)  to  naked  fields,  and  the  planted  trees 
on  the  hill-sides.  We  were  disgusted  with  the  stables, 
out-houses,  or  farm-houses,  in  different  parts  of  the  grounds 
behind  the  castle  ;  they  were  broad,  outspreading,  fantas- 
tic, and  unintelligible  buildings.  Sat  in  the  park  till  the 
moonlight  was  felt  more  than  the  light  of  day ;  we  then 
walked  near  the  town  by  the  water-side.  I  observed  that 
the  children  who  were  playing  did  not  speak  Erse,  but  a 

y  Digitized  by  CjOOQIC 


Hi  TOVK  III  8CM>TLAm. 

Much  worse  English  than  is  spoked  by  those  Highianden 
•whose  common  language  is  Erse.  I  went  into  the  town 
to  purchase  tea  and  sugar  to  carry  with  us  on  our  journey ; 
we  were  tired  when  we  returned  to  the  inn,  and  I  went  to 
bed  directly  after  tea.  My  room  was  at  the  very  top  of 
the  house,  one  flight  of  steps  after  another^  but  when  I 
drew  back  die  curtains  of  my  window  I  was  repaid  for 
the  trouble  of  pcmting  up  stairs,  by  one  of  the  most  splen- 
did moonlight  prospects  that  can  be  conceived.  The 
whole  circuit  of  the  hills,  the  castle,  the  two  bridges,  the 
tower  on  Dunicoich  hill,  and  the  lake,  with  many  boats  — - 
fit  scene  for  summer  midnight  festivities.  I  should  have 
iiked  to  see  a  bevy  of  Scottish  ladies  sailing  with  music 
in  a  gay  barge.  William,  to  whom  I  have  read  this,  tells 
me  that  I  have  used  the  very  words  of  Browne  of  Ottery, 
Coleridge's  fellow  townsman : 

"  As  I  have  seen,  when  on  the  breast  of  Thames, 
A  heavenly  bevy  of  sweet  English  dames, 
In  some  calm  evening  of  delightful  May, 
With  music  give  a  fare\^ell  to  the  day ; 
Or  as  they  would  (with  an  admired  tone), 
Greet  night's  ascension  to  her  ebon  throne."  ^ 

*  Wednesday y  Augmt  31«i.  —  We  had  a  long  day's 
journey  before  us  without  a  regular  baiting-place  on  the 
road,  so  we  breakfasted  at  Inverary,  and  did  not  set  off 
till  nine  o'clock.' 

'  William  and  I  walked,  and  we  had  such  confidence  in 
our  horse  that  we  were  not  afraid  to  leave  the  car  to  his 
guidance,  with  the  child  in  it.  We  were  soon,  however, 
alarmed  at  seeing  him  trot  up  the  hill  a  long  way  before 
us  ;  the  child,  having  raised  himself  up  upon  the  seat,  was 

■  Browne's  Britannia's  Pastorals.  I 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 

J 


TOirS  IN   SCOTLAlfS*  flW 

whipping  him  as  hard  as  he  could  with  a  litde  stick  be 
carried  in  his-  hand,  and  when  he  saw  our  eyes  were  on 
him  he  sat  down,  I  dare  say  very  sorry  to  resign  his  office. 
The  horse  slackened  his  pace,  and  no  accident  happened. 
When  we  had  ascended  half  way  up  the  hill,  directed  hy 
a  peasant,  I  took  a  nearer  footpath,  and  at  the  top  came 
in  view  of  a  most  impressive  scene ;  a  ruined  castle  on 
an  island  almost  in  the  middle  of  the  last  compartment  of 
the  lake,  backed  by  a  grand  mountain  cove,  down  which 
came  a  roaring  stream.  The  castle  occupied  every  foot 
of  the  island  that  was  visible  to  us,  appearing  to  rise  out 
of  the  water ;  mbts  rested  upon  the  mountain-side,  with 
spots  of  sunshine  between ;  there  was  a  mild  desolation 
in  the  low  grounds,  a  solemn  grandeur  in  the  mountains, 
and  the  castle  was  wild  yet  stately,  not  dismantled  of  its 
turrets,  nor  the  walls  broken  down,  though  completely  in 
ruin.  Afler  having  stood  some  minutes  I  joined  William 
on  the  high  road  ;  and  both  wishing  to  stay  longer  near 
this  place,  we  requested  the  man  to  drive  his  little  boy  on 
to  Dalmally,  about  two  miles  further,  and  leave  the  car  at 
the  inn.  He  told  us  that  the  ruin  was  called  Kilchum 
Castle,  that  it  belonged  to  Lord  Breadalbane,  and  had 
been  built  by  one  of  the  ladies  of  that  family  for  her  de- 
fence during  her  lord's  absence  at  the  Crusades,  for  which 
purpose  she  levied  a  very  heavy  tax  upon  her  tenants. 
He  said,  that  on  that  side  of  the  lake  it  did  not  appear,  in 
very  dry  weather,  to  stand  upon  an  island,  but  that  it  was 
possible  to  go  over  to  it  without  being  wet-shod.  We 
were  very  lucky  in  seeing  it  after  a  great  flood,  for  its 
enchanting  effect  was  chiefly  owing  to  its  situation  in  the 
lake  —  a  decayed  palace  rising  out  of  the  plain  of  waters. 
I  have  called  it  a  palace,  for  such  feeling  it  gave  to  me, 
though,  having  been  built  as  a  place  of  defence,  a  castle 
or  fortress.     We  turned  again  and  re-ascended  the  hiU, 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


rOVK  IN   seOTLANI). 

and  sat  a  long  time  in  the  middle  of  it,  looking  on  the 
castle  and  the  huge  mountain  cove  opposite  ;  and  William^ 
addressing  himself  to  the  ruin,  poured  out  these  verses :  ^ 

<<  Child  of  load-throated  war,  the  mountain-stream 
Boars  in  thy  hearing ;  but  thy  hour  of  rest 
Is  come,  and  thou  art  silent  in  thine  age.'' 

We  walked  up  the  hill  again,  and,  looking  down  the  vale, 
had  a  fine  view  of  the  lake  and  islands,  resembling  the 
views  down  Windermere,  though  much  less  rich.' 

*  Saturday^  September  Sd,  —  When  I  have  arrived  at  aa 
unknown  place  by  moonlight,  it  is  never  a  moment  of 
indifference  when  I  greet  it  with  the  morning  light,  espe^ 
cially  if  the  objects  have  appeared  beautiful,  or  in  any 
other  way  particularly  impressive.  I  have  kept  hack, 
unwilling  to  go  to  the  window  that  I  might  not  lose  the 
picture  which  I  had  taken  to  my  pillow  at  night.  So  it 
was  at  Ballachullish :  the  place  had  appeared  exceed- 
ingly wild  by  moonlight ;  I  had  mistaken  corn-fields  for 
naked  rocks ;  and  the  lake  had  appeared  narrower,  and 
the  hills  more  steep  than  they  really  were.  We  rose  at 
eix  o'clock,  and  took  a  basin  of  milk  before  we  set  for- 
ward on  our  journey  to  Glen  Coe.  It  was  a  delightful 
morning,  the  road  excellent,  and  we  were  in  good  spirits, 
happy  that  we  had  no  more  ferries  to  cross,  and  pleased 
with  the  thought  that  we  were  going  among  the  grand 
mountains  which  we  saw  before  us  at  the  head  of  the 
loch.' 

'  In  comparing  the  impressions  we  had  received  at  Glen 
Coe,  we  found  that,  though  the  expectations  of  both  of  us 
had  been  far  surpassed  by  the  grandeur  of  the  mountains, 
yet  we  had,  upon  the  whole,  both  been  disappointed,  and 
from  the  same  cause :  we  had  been  prepared  for  images 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


.TOUB   IN   SCOTXiARS.  Ml 

of  terror ;  had  expected  a  deep,  den-like  valley  with  over- 
hanging  rocks,  such  as  Wm.  has  described  in  those  linet 
(speaking  of  the  Alps) : 

**  Brook  and  road 
Were  fellow  travellers  in  this  gloomy  pass, 
And  with  them  did  we  journey  several  hours 
At  a  slow  step."  * 

The  place  had  nothing  of  this  character,  the  glen  being 
open  to  the  eye  of  day,  the  mountains  retiring  from  it  in 
independent  majesty.  Even  in  the  upper  part  of  it,  where 
tile  stream  rushed  through  the  rocky  chasm,  it  was  but  a 
deep  trench  in  the  vale,  not  the  vale  itself,  and  could  only 
be  seen  when  we  were  close  to  it.' 

^Monday,  September  Bth. — We  arrived  at  Kenmore 
after  sunset'        *■ 

*  Tuesday^  September  6th,  —  Walked  before  breakfast 
in  Lord  Breadalbane's  grounds  which  border  upon  the 
river  Tay.' 

*  Wednesday^  September  1th,  —  Rose  early  and  went 
before  breakfast  to  the  Duke  of  Athol's  gardens  and 
pleasure-grounds,  where  we  completely  tired  ourselves 
with  a  three-hours'  walk.' 

*  We  rested  upon  the  heather  seat,  which  Bums  was  so 
loath  to  quit  that  moonlight  evening  when  he  first  went  to 
Blair  Castle ;  and  I  had  a  pleasure  in  thinking  that  he  had 
been  under  the  same  shelter,  and  viewed  the  little  water- 
fall opposite  with  some  of  the  happy  and  pure  feelings  of 
his  better  mind.' 

>  Frelade,  book  vi.  p.  163. 
VOL.  I.  16  n         \ 

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M2  TOVB  DC  SOOTLAXD. 

«  nMTBday^  September  %th.  —  Before  breakfast  we 
walked  to  the  Pass  of  Killicranky.  It  is  a  very  fine 
•cene,  the  river  Garry  forcing  its  way  down  a  deep  chasm 
between  rocks  and  high  rugged  hills  covered  with  wood, 
and  mountains  above.  It  did  not,  however,  impress  us 
with  awe,  or  a  sensation  of  difficulty  or  danger,  according 
to  our  expectations ;  but,  the  road  being  at  a  considerable 
height  on  the  hill-side,  we  at  first  only  looked  into  die  dell 
or  chasm.  It  is  much  grander  seen  nearer  the  river's  bed. 
Everybody  knows  that  this  pass  is  famous  in  military  his- 
tory. When  we  were  travelling  in  Scotland  an  invasion 
was  hourly  looked  for,  and  one  could  not  but  think  with 
some  regret  of  the  times  when,  from  the  now  depopulated 
Highlands,  forty  or  fifly  thousand  men  might  have  been 
poured  down  for  the  defence  of  the  country  under  such 
leaders  as  the  Marquis  of  Montrose,  or  the  brave  man  who 
had  so  distinguished  himself  upon  the  ground  where  we 
were  standing.  I  will  transcribe  a  sonnet  suggested  to 
Wm.  by  this  place,  written  October,  1803.^ 

"  Six  thousand  veterans  practised  in  war's  game, 
Tried  men,  at  Killicranky  were  arrayed 
Against  an  equal  host  that  wore  the  plaid, 
Shepherds  and  herdsmen.    Like  a  whirlwind  came 
The  highlanders,  the  slaughter  spread  like  flame ; 
And  Garry,  thundering  down  his  mountain  road, 
Was  stopped  and  could  not  breathe  beneath  the  load 
Of  the  dead  bodies.    *T  was  a  day  of  shame 
For  them  whom  precept  and  the  pedantry 
Of  cold  mechanic  battle  do  enslave. 
Oh !  for  a  single  hour  of  that  Dundee 
Who  on  that  day  the  word  of  onset  gave ! 
Like  conquest  might  the  men  of  England  see  ; 
And  their  foes  find  a  like  inglorious  grave."  ' 

»  Vol.  iii.  p.  27. 

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TOUB  IN   SCOTLAHD.  8€3 

*•  Friday^  Sqi>iemher  9th.  —  We  had  been  undetermined 
xespecting  our  future  course  when  we  came  to  Dunkeld, 
mrhether  to  go  on  directly  to  Perth  and  Edinburgh  or  to 
make  a  circuit  and  revisit  the  Trosachs.  We  decided 
upon  the  latter  plan,  and  accordingly,  afler  breakfast,  set 
forwards  towards  Crieff,  where  we  intended  to  sleep,  and 
the  next  night  at  Callander.^ 

*  We  baited  at  a  lonely  inn  at  the  foot  of  a  steep  barren 
moor,  which  we  had  to  cross ;  then,  afler  descending  con- 
siderably, came  to  the  narrow  glen  which  we  had  ap- 
proached with  no  little  curiosity,  not  having  been  able  to 
procure  any  distinct  description  of  it  at  Dunkeld/ 

^  We  entered  the  glen  at  a  small  hamlet  at  some  dis- 
tance from  the  head,  left  the  car,  and,  turning  aside  a  few 
steps,  ascended  a  hillock  which  commanded  a  view  to  the 
top  of  it :  a  very  sweet  scene  —  a  green  valley,  not  very- 
narrow,  with  a  few  scattered  trees  and  huts,  almost  invisi- 
ble by  a  misty  gleam  of  afternoon  light' 

'The  following  poem  was  written  by  Wm.  in  conse- 
quence of  a  tradition  relating  to  it,  which  we  did  not  know 
when  we  went  there. ,i 

'*  In  this  still  place,  remote  from  men, 
Sleeps  Ossian  in  the  narrow  glen ; 
In  this  still  place,  where  murmurs  on 
V  But  one  meek  streamlet,  only  one, 

He  sang  of  battles,  and  the  breath 
Of  stormy  war,  and  violent  death  ; 
And  should,  methinks,  when  all  was  past, 
Have  rightfully  been  laid  at  last 

*  Vol.  m.  p.  14. 

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344  TOUK  IN   SCOTLAND. 

Where  rocks  were  mdely  heaped,  and  rent 

As  by  a  spirit  turbulent ; 

Wiiere  sights  were  rough  and  sounds  were  wild 

And  every  thing  unreconciled, 

In  some  complaining  dim  retreat 

Where  fear  and  melancholy  meet : 

But  this  is  calm ;  there  cannot  be 

A  more  entire  tranquillity. 

''  Does  then  the  bard  sleep  here  indeed  ? 
Or  is  it  but  a  groundless  creed  ? 
What  matters  it  ?    I  blame  them  not 
Whose  fancy  in  this  lonely  spot 
Was  moved,  and  in  this  way  expressed 
Their  notion  of  its  perfect  rest. 
A  convent,  e'en  a  hermit's  cell, 
Would  break  the  silence  of  this  dell. 
It  is  not  quiet,  is  not  ease. 
But  something  deeper  far  than  these ; 
The  separation  that  is  here 
Is  of  the  grave,  and  of  austere 
And  happy  feelings  of  the  dead ; 
And  therefore  was  it  rightly  said 
That  Ossian,  last  of  all  his  race. 
Lies  buried  in  this  lonely  place."  ' 

*  Sunday y  September  1  Ith.  —  We  have  never  had  a  more 
delightful  walk  than  this  evening.  Ben  Lomond,  and  the 
three  sharp-crested  mountains  of  Loch  Lomond,  which  we 
had  seen  from  the  garrison,  were  very  majestic  under  the 
clear  sky ;  the  lake  was  perfectly  calm,  the  air  sweet  and 
mild.  I  felt  how  much  more  interesting  it  is  to  visit  a 
place  where  we  have  been  before  than  it  can  possibly  be 
the  first  time,  except  under  peculiar  circumstances.  The 
sun  had  been  set  for  some  time,  when,  being  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  of  the  ferry-man's  hut,  our  path  leading 
us  close  to  the  shore  of  the  calm  lake,  we  met  two  neatly 
dressed  women  without  hats,  who  had  probably  been  taking 

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TOUR   IN    SCOTLAND,  245 

their  Sunday  evening's  walk.  One  of  them  said  to  us 
in  a  friendly  soft  tone  of  voice,  "  What,  you  are  stepping 
westward  ?  "  I  cannot  describe  how  affecting  this  simple 
expression  was  in  that  remote  place,  with  the  western  sky 
in  front,  yet  glowing  with  the  departing  sun.  William 
wrote  the  following  poem  ^  long  after  in  remembrance  of 
his  feelings  and  mine  : 

"  '  What,  you  art  stepping  westward  f '    Yea, 
'T  would  be  a  wildish  destiny, 
If  we,  who  thus  together  roam 
In  a  strange  land,  and  far  from  home, 
Were  in  this  place  the  guests  of  chance  : 
Yet  who  would  stop  or  fear  t'  advance. 
Though  home  or  shelter  he  had  none. 
With  such  a  sky  to  lead  him  on  ?  "  ' 

*  We  went  up  to  the  door  of  our  boatman's  hut  as  to  a 
home,  and  scarcely  less  confident  of  a  cordial  welcome 
than  if  we  had  been  approaching  our  own  cottage  at  Gras- 
mere.  It  had  been  a  very  pleasing  thought,  while  we 
were  walking  by  the  side  of  the  beautiful  lake,  that,  few 
hours  as  we  had  been  there,  there  was  a  home  for  us  in  one 
of  its  quiet  dwellings.  Accordingly,  so  we  found  it ;  the 
good  woman,  who  had  been  at  a  preaching  by  the  lake- 
side, was  in  her  holiday  dress  at  the  door,  and  was  rejoiced 
at  the  sight  of  us.  She  led  us  into  the  hut,  in  haste  to 
supply  our  wants.  We  took  once  more  a  refreshing  meal 
by  her  fire-side,  and,  though  not  so  merry  as  the  last  time, 
we  were  not  less  happy,  bating  our  regrets  that  Coleridge 
was  not  in  his  old  place.  I  slept  in  the  same  bed  as  be- 
fore, and  listened  to  the  household  stream  which  now  only 
made  a  very  low  murmuring.' 

'  Monday^  September  I2th,  —  We  descended  into  Glen- 
»  Vol.  iii.  p.  15. 

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246  TOUS   IN   SCOTLAND. 

gyle  at  the  head  of  Loch  Ketterine,  and  passed  through 
Mr.  Macfarlane's  grounds,  that  is,  through  the  whole  of  the 
glen,  where  there  was  now  no  house  left  hut  his.' 

'  We  had  sent  the  ferryman  on  before  us  from  the  head 
of  the  glen,  to  bring  the  boat  round,  from  the  place  where 
we  had  left  it,  to  the  other  side  of  the  lake.  Passed  the 
second  farm-house  which  we  had  such  good  reason  to 
remember,  and  went  up  to  the  burying-ground  which  I 
have  spoken  of,  that  stood  so  sweetly  near  the  water-side. 
The  ferryman  had  told  us  that  Rob  Roy's  grave  was  there, 
so  we  could  not  pass  on  without  going  to  the  spot.  There 
were  several  tombstones,  but  the  inscriptions  were  either 
worn  out,  or  unintelligible  to  us,  and  the  place  choked  up 
with  nettles  and  brambles.  You  will  remember  the  de- 
scription I  gave  of  the  situation  of  this  place.  I  have 
nothing  here  to  add,  except  the  following  poem '  which 
it  suggested  to  Wm. : 

"  A  famoas  man  is  Robin  Hood, 
The  English  ballad-singer's  joy ; 
And  Scotland  has  a  thief  as  good. 
An  oatlaw  of  as  daring  mood  ; 

She  has  her  brave  Rob  Roy ! "  ' 

'  Tuesday^  September  ISth,  —  Continued  to  walk  for 
some  time  along  the  top  of  the  hill,  having  the  high  moun- 
tains of  Loch  Voil  before  us,  and  Ben  Lomond  and  the 
steeps  of  Loch  Ketterine  behind.  We  came  to  several 
deserted  summer  huts  or  shiels,  and  rested  for  some  time 
beside  one  of  them  upon  a  hillock  of  its  green  plot  of 
monumental  herbage.  Wm.  here  conceived  the  notion  of 
writing  an  ode  upon  the  affecting  subject  of  those  relics  of 
human  society  which  we  found  in  that  solitary  and  grand 

"  Vol.  ill.  p.  19. 

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TOUB   IN   SCOTLAND.  247 

region.  The  spot  of  ground  where  we  sat  was  very  beau- 
tiful, the  grass  being  uncommonly  verdant  and  of  a 
remarkably  sofH  and  silky  texture.  Afler  this  we  rested 
no  more  till  we  came  to  the  foot  of  the  mountain,  where 
there  was  a  cottage,  into  which  a  woman  invited  me  to 
enter  and  drink  some  whey  :  this  I  did,  while  Wm.  went 
to  inquire  about  the  road  at  a  new  stone  house  a  few  steps 
further  on.' 

*  Near  the  head  of  the  lake,  at  some  distance  from  us, 
we  espied  the  burial-place  of  the  MacGregors,  and  did 
not  see  it  without  some  interest,  and  its  ornamental  balls 
on  the  four  corners  of  the  wall,  which  I  dare  say  have 
often  been  looked  at  with  elevation  of  heart  by  our  honest 
friend  of  Loch  Ketterine.  The  lake  is  divided  right 
across  by  a  very  narrow  slip  or  line  of  flat  land,  making 
a  small  lake  at  the  head  of  the  large  one.  The  whole 
may  be  about  five  miles  long.  As  we  descended,  the 
scene  became  more  fertile,  our  way  being  pleasantly 
varied,  through  coppices  or  open  fields,  and  passing  many 
farm-houses,  though  always  with  an  intermixture  of  un» 
cultivated  ground.  It  was  harvest  time,  and  the  fields 
were  enlivened  by  many  small  companies  of  reapers.  It 
is  not  uncommon  in  the  more  lonely  parts  of  the  High» 
lands,  to  see  a  single  person  so  employed.  The  following 
poem  ^  was  suggested  to  Wm.  by  a  beautiful  sentence  in 
Thomas  Wilkinson's  Tour  in  Scotland. 

"Behold  her  single  in  the  field, 
Yon  solitary  Highland  lass, 
Reaping  and  singing  by  herself. 
Stop  here,  or  gently  pass. 
Alone  she  cuts  and  binds  the  grain, 
And  sings  a  melancholy  strain  ; 

>  Vol.  iii.  p.  16. 

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348  TOUR  IK   SCOTLAND. 

Oh !  listen,  for  the  vale  profound 
Is  overflowing  with  the  sound.'' ' 

•  Friday^  September  I6th.  —  When  we  found  ourselves 
once  again  in  the  streets  of  Edinburgh  we  regretted  bit- 
terly the  heavy  rain ;  and,  indeed,  before  we  had  left  the 
hill,  much  as  we  were  indebted  to  the  accident  of  the  rain 
for  the  peculiar  grandeur  and  affecting  wildness  of  those 
objectB  we  saw,  we  could  not  but  regret  that  the  Frith  of 
Forth  and  all  the  distant  objects  were  entirely  hidden  from 
us,  and  we  strained  our  eyes  till  they  ached,  vainly  trying 
to  pierce  through  the  thick  mist  We  walked  industriously 
through  the  streets,  street  after  street,  and  in  spite  of  wet 
and  dih,  and  an  obscure  view  of  every  thing,  were  ex- 
ceedingly delighted.  The  old  town,  with  its  irregular 
houses,  stage  above  stage,  hardly  resembles  the  work  of 
man ;  it  is  more  like  rock-work  ;  but  I  cannot  attempt  to 
describe  what  we  saw  so  imperfectly.  I  can  only  say  that 
high  as  my  expectations  had  been  raised,  the  effect  of  the 
city  of  Edinburgh  upon  me  far  surpassed  them.  We 
would  gladly  have  stayed  another  day,  but  could  not 
afford  more  time,  and  we  had  such  dismal  notions  of  the 
rains  of  Scotland  that  we  had  no  hope  of  its  ceasing.  So 
at  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  we  departed,  intending 
to  sleep  at  an  inn  in  the  village  of  Roslin,  about  five  miles 
from  Edinburgh.  The  rain  continued  till  we  were  almost 
at  Roslin,  but  then  it  was  quite  dark,  so  we  did  not  see 
the  castle  that  night' 

^September  \8th,  —  The  town  of  Peebles  is  upon  the 
banks  of  the  Tweed.  After  breakfast  we  walked  up  the 
river  to  Nidpath  Castle,  about  a  mile  and  a  half  from  the 
town.  It  stands  upon  a  green  hill  overlooking  the  Tweed ; 
a  strong  square -towered  edifice,  neglected  and  desolate, 
though  not  in  ruin ;  the  garden  overgrown  with  grass,  and 

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TOtrS  HV   SCOTLAND.  249 

the  high  walls  that  fenced  it  hroken  down.  The  gentle 
Tweed  winds  between  green  steeps,  upon  which,  and 
close  to  the  river-side,  were  many  sheep  pasturing; 
higher  still  are  the  grey  mountains.  But  I  need  not  de- 
scribe this  scene,  for  Wm.  has  done  it  far  better  than  I 
could,  in  a  sonnet ^  which  he  wrote  the  same  day;  at 
least,  the  five  last  lines  of  his  poem  will  impart  to  you 
more  of  the  feeling  of  the  place  than  it  would  be^  possible  . 
for  me  to  do. 

''  HI  wishes  shall  attend  the  unworthy  lord, 
Whom  mere  despite  of  heart  could  so  far  please, 
And  love 'Of  havoc  (for  with  such  disease 
Fame  taxes  him),  that  he  could  send  forth  word 
To  level  with  the  dost  a  noble  horde, 
A  brotherhood  of  venerable  trees, 
Leaving  an  ancient  dome  and  towers  like  these 
Beggared  and  outraged !  "  ' 

*  Being  so  near  to  the  Yarrow  wben  we  were  at  Cloven- 
ford,  we  could  not  but  think  of  the  possibility  of  going 
thither,  and  debated  concerning  it,  but  came  to  the  con- 
clusion of  reserving  the  pleasure  for  some  future  time,  in 
consequence  of  which,  after  our  return,  Wm.  wrote  the 
poem  2  which  I  shall  here  transcribe. 

"  From  Stirling  Castle  we  had  seen 
The  mazy  Forth  unravelled  j 
Had  trod  the  hanks  of  Clyde  and  Tay, 
And  with  the  Tweed  had  travelled  ; 
And  when  we  came  to  Clovenford, 
Then  said  my  '  winsome  marrow,* 
Whatever  betide,  we'll  turn  aside 
And  see  the  Braes  of  Yarrow."  * 

*  Vol.  iii.  p.  24,  Son.  xii.  "  Vol.  iii.  p.  24. 

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SSO  TOUm  IH  SCOTLAND. 

*The  next  day  we  were  to  meet  Mr.  Scott^i*  and  again 
join  the  Tweed.  I  wish  I  could  have  given  you  a  better 
idea  of  what  we  saw  since  we  left  Peebles.  I  have  nKMt 
distinct  recollections  of  the  effect  of  the  whole  day^s  jour* 
ney  upon  us ;  but  the  objects  are  melted  together  in  my 
memory ;  and  though  I  should  recognize  them  if  we  re« 
visit  the  place,  I  cannot  call  them  out  so  as  to  represent 
them  with  distinctness.  Wm.,  in  attempting  to  describe 
this  part  of  the  Tweed,  says  of  it, 

*'  More  pensive  in  sunshine 
Than  others  in  moonshine ; " 

which  may,  perhaps,  give  you  more  power  to  conceive 
what  it  is,  than  all  I  have  said.^ 

^  Monday^  September  \^ih,  —  Left  the  Galla,  and,  after 
crossing  the  open  country,  came  again  to  the  Tweed,  and 
pursued  our  way  as  before  near  the  river,  perhaps  for  a 

>  Sir  Walter  Scott. 

*  [This  was  the  first  time  the  two  poets  met.  See  farther  particu- 
lars of  their  intercoarse  at  this  time  in  Mr.  Lockhart's  delightful 
narrative ;  Life  of  Scott,  Chap.  xii.  Wordsworth  thas  described 
his  impressions  of  Scott :  —  *  We  were  received  with  that  frank 
cordiality  which,  under  whatever  circumstances  I  afterwards  met 
him,  always  marked  his  manners  \  and  indeed,  I  found  him  then 
in  every  respect  —  except,  perhaps,  that  his  animal  spirits  were 
somewhat  higher  —  precisely  the  same  man  that  you  knew  him 
in  later  life  ;  the  same  lively,  entertaining  conversation,  full  of 
anecdote,  and  averse  from  disquisition ;  the  same  unaffected 
modesty  about  himself;  the  same  cheerful  and  benevolent  and 
hopeful  views  of  man  and  the  world.  He  partly  read  and  partly 
recited,  sometimes  in  an  enthusiastic  style  of  chant,  the  first  four 
cantos  of  the  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel ;  and  the  novelty  of  the 
manners,  the  clear  picturesque  descriptions,  and  the  easy  glowing 
energy  of  much  of  the  verse  greatly  delighted  me.'  —  Lockhart's 
Life  of  S jott,  Vol.  u.  p.  160.  —  h.  k.] 

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TOtTR  IN  8C0TLAKD.  %1 

mile  or  two,  till  we  arrived  at  Melrose.  The  valley,  for 
this  short  space,  was  not  so  pleasing  as  before ;  the  hills 
were  more  broken,  and  though  the  cultivation  was  general, 
yet  the  scene  was  not  rich,  while  it  had  entirely  lost  its 
pastoral  simplicity.  At  Melrose  the  vale  opens  out  wide, 
but  the  hills  are  high  all  round,  single  distinct  risings. 
After  breakfast  we  went  out,  intending  to  go  to  the  abbey, 
and  in  the  street  met  with  Mr.  Scott,  who  gave  us  a  cor* 
dial  greeting,  and  conducted  us  thither  himself.  There  he 
was  on  his  own  ground,  for  he  is  familiar  with  all  that  is 
known  of  the  authentic  history  of  Melrose,  and  the  popu- 
lar tales  connected  with  it.  He  pointed  out  many  pieces 
of  beautiful  sculpture  in  obscure  comers,  which  would 
have  escaped  our  notice.  The  abbey  has  been  built  of  a 
pale  red  stone,  that  part  which  was  first  erected  of  a  very 
durable  kind,  the  flowers  and  leaves  being  as  perfect,  in 
many  places,  as  when  they  were  first  wrought.  The  ruin 
is  of  considerable  extent,  but,  unfortunately,  it  is  almost 
surrounded  by  mean  houses,  so  that  when  you  are  close 
to  it  you  see  it  entirely  separated  from  any  rural  objects ; 
and  even  when  viewed  from  a  distance,  the  situation  does 
not  seem  to  be  particularly  happy,  for  the  vale  is  broken 
and  disturbed,  and  the  abbey  at  a  distance  from  the  river, 
so  that  you  do  not  look  upon  them  as  companions  of  each 
other.  And  (surely  this  is  a  national  barbarism)  within 
these  beautiful  walls,  is  the  ugliest  church  that  ever  was 
beheld.  If  it  had  been  hewn  out  of  the  side  of  a  hill  it 
could  not  have  beeh  more  dismal ;  there  was  no  neatness 
Bor  even  decency,  and  it  appeared  to  be  so  damp,  and  so 
completely  excluded  from  fresh  air,  that  it  must  be  dan- 
gerous to  sit  in:  the  floor  is  unpaved  and  very  rough. 
What  a  contrast  to  the  beautiful  and  graceful  order  which 
appears  in  every  part  of  the  ancient  design  and  workman- 
ship I   Mr.  Scott  went  with  us  into  the  gardens  and  orchard 

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S52  TO0E  IN   SCOTLAND. 

of  Mr.  Riddel,  from  which  we  had  a  very  sweet  view  of 
the  abbey,  through  trees,  the  town  being  entirely  ex- 
cluded. Dined  with  Mr.  S.  at  the  inn.  He  was  now 
travelling  to  the  assizes  at  Jedburgh,  in  his  character  of 
Sheriff  of  Selkirk ;  and  for  that  cause,  as  well  as  for  hts 
own  sake,  he  was  treated  with  profound  respect,  a  small 
part  of  which  was  vouchsafed  to  us  as  his  friends,  though 
I  could  not  persuade  the  woman  to  show  me  the  beds  or 
to  make  any  promise  till  she  was  assured  from  the  sheriff 
himself,  that  he  had  no  objection  to  sleep  in  the  same 
room  with  Wm.' 

•  7\iesday^  September   2Qth,  —  After  this  it  rained   so 
heavily  that  we  could  scarcely  see  anything.     Crossed  the 
Teviot  by  a  stone  bridge:    the  vale  in  that  part  wide. 
There  was  a  great  deal  of  ripe  corn,  but  a  want  of  trees, 
and  no  appearance  of  richness.     Arrived  at  Jedburgh  half 
an  hour  before  the  judges  were  expected  out  of  court  to 
dinner.     We  gave  in  our  passport,  the  name  of  Mr.  Scott, 
the  sheriff,  and  were  very  civilly  treated  ;    but  there  was 
no  vacant  room  in  the  house,  except  the  Judge's  sitting- 
room,  and  we  wanted  to  have  a  fire,  being  exceedingly 
wet  and  cold.     I  was  conducted  into  that  room  on  condi- 
tion that  I  would  give  it  up  the  moment  the  Judge  came 
from  court.     After  I  had  taken  off  my  wet  clothes  I  went 
into  a  bed-room,  and  sat  shivering  till  the  people  of  the  inn 
had  procured  lodgings  for  us  in  a  private  house.     We 
were  received  with  hearty  welcome  by  a  good  old  woman, 
who,  though  above  seventy  years  of  age,  moved  about  as 
briskly  as  if  she  had  been  only  seventeen.' 

*  She  was  a  most  remarkable  woman  ;  the  alacrity  with 
which  she  ran  up  stairs  when  we  rung,  and  guessed  at  and 
strove  to  prevent  our  wants,  was  surprising.     She  had  a 

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TOUS  IN   SCOTLAND.  358 

quick  eye,  strong  features,  and  joyousness  in  her  motions ; 
I  found  afterwards  that  she  had  been  subject  to  fits  of 
dejection  and  ill  health.  We  then  guessed  that  her  over- 
flowing gaiety  and  strength  might  be  in  part  attributed  to 
the  same  cause  as  her  former  dejection.  Her  husband 
-was  deaf  and  infirm,  and  sat  in  a  chair  with  scarcely  the 
power  to  move  a  limb,  an  aflecting  contrast !  The  old 
woman  said  that  they  had  been  a  very  hard* working  pair, 
indeed  they  had  wrought  like  slaves  at  their  trade  (her 
husband  had  been  a  currier)  ;  and  she  told  me  how  they 
had  portioned  off  their  daughters  with  money,  and  each  a 
feather  bed  ;  and  that  in  their  old  age,  they  had  laid  out 
the  little  they  could  spare  in  building  and  furnishing  that 
house  for  lodgings ;  and  then  she  added  with  pride,  that 
she  had  lived  in  her  youth  in  the  family  of  Lady  Egerton, 
who  was  no  high  lady,  and  now  was  in  the  habit  of  coming 
to  her  house  whenever  she  was  at  Jedburgh,  and  a  hundred 
other  things ;  for  when  she  once  began  with  Lady  Egerton, 
she  did  not  know  how  to  stop  ;  nor  did  I  wish  it,  for  she 
was  very  entertaining.  Mr.  Scott  sat  with  us  an  hour  or 
two,  and  repeated  a  part  of  the  "  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel." 
When  Mr.  S.  was  gone,  our  hostess  came  to  see  if  we 
wanted  anything,  and  wish  us  good  night.  She  had  the 
same  striking  manner  as  before,  and  we  were  so  much 
interested  with  her  that  Wm.,  long  afterwards,  expressed 
in  verse  the  sensations  which  she  had  excited  in  him  :  ^ 

"  Age !  twine  thy  brows  with  fresh  spring  flowers, 
And  call  a  traia  of  laughing  hours, 
And  bid  them  dance,  and  bid  them  sing, 
And  thou,  too,  mingle  in  the  ring !  "  * 

*  Wednesday,  September  2lst,  —  The  valley  of  the  Jed 
is  very  solitary  immediately   under    Furneyhurst.     We 

»  Vol.  iii.  p.  27. 

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854  Tovm  ui  scotlahd. 

walked  down  to  the  river,  wading  almost  up  to  tiie  knees 
in  fern,  which  in  many  parts  overspread  the  forest  ground. 
It  made  me  think  of  our  walks  at  Alfoxden,  and  of  our  owm 
park  (though  at  Furneyhurst  is  no  park  at  present),  and 
the  slim  fawns  that  we  used  to  startle  from  their  conching- 
places  among  the  fern  at  the  top  of  the  hill.  We  were 
accompanied  in  our  walk  hy  a  young  man  from  the  Braes 
of  Yarrow,  an  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Scott's,  who,  having 
been  much  delighted  with  some  of  Wm.'s  poems  whitfh 
he  had  chanced  to  see  in  a  newspaper,  had  wished  to  be 
introduced  to  him.  He  lived  at  the  most  retired  part  of 
the  Dale  of  Yarrow,  where  he  had  a  farm.  He  was  fond 
of  reading,  and  well-informed,  but  at  first  meeting  as  shy 
as  any  of  our  Grasmere  lads,  and  not  less  rustic  in  his 
appearance.  He  had  been  in  the  Highlands,  and  gave  me 
such  an  account  of  Loch  Rennoch,  as  made  us  regret 
exceedingly  that  we  had  not  gone  on,  especially  as  he 
told  us  that  the  bad  road  ended  at  a  very  little  distance 
from  the  place  where  we  had  turned  back,  and  that  we 
should  have  come  into  another  good  road,  continued  idl 
along  the  shore  of  Loch  Rennoch.  He  also  mentioned 
that  there  was  a  very  fine  view  from  the  steeple  at 
Dunkeld.' 

'  Friday,  September  2Sd.  Before  breakfast  walked  with 
Mr.  Scott  along  a  high-road  about  two  miles  up  a  bare  hill. 
Hawick  is  a  small  town  ;  it  stands  low.  From  the  top  of 
the  hill  whither  we  went,  we  had  an  extensive  view  over 
the  moors  of  Liddisdale,  and  saw  the  Cheviot  hills.  We 
wished  we  could  have  gone  with  Mr.  S.  into  some  of  the 
remote  dales  of  this  country,  where  in  almost  every  house 
he  can  find  a  home.  But  after  breakfast  we  were  obliged 
to  part  with  him,  which  we  did  with  great  regret;  he 

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TOUR   IN   SGOTLAMD.  855 

would  gladly  have  gone  with  us  to  Langholm,  eighteen 
mles  further.^ 

*  Sej^ember  24ith.  —  Rose  very  early  and  travelled  about 
niae  miles,  to  Longtown,  before  breaJkfast,  along  the  banks 
of  the  Esk.  About  half-a-mile  from  Langholm  crossed  a 
bridge.  At  this  part  of  the  vale,  which  is  narrow,  the 
hills  are  covered  with  old  oaks.  Our  road  for  some  time 
through  the  wood ;  then  came  to  a  more  open  country, 
exceedingly  rich  and  populous.  The  banks  of  the  river 
frequently  rocky  and  hung  with  wood  ;  many  gentlemen's 
houses.' 

*  We  did  not  look  along  the  white  line  of  the  road  to 
Solway  Moss  without  some  melancholy  emotion,  though 
we  had  the  fair  prospect  of  the  Cumberland  mountains 
full  in  view,  with  the  certainty,  barring  accidents,  of 
reaching  our  dear  home  the  next  day.  Breakfasted  at  the 
Graham's  Arms.  The  weather  had  been  very  fine  from 
the  time  of  our  arrival  at  Jedburgh,  and  this  was  a  pleas- 
ant day.  The  sun  "  shone  fair  on  Carlisle  walls  "  when 
we  first  saw  them  from  the  top  of  the  opposite  hills. 
Stopped  to  look  at  the  place  upon  the  sand  near  the  bridge 

•  where  Hatfield  had  been  executed.  Put  up  at  the  same 
inn  as  before,  and  were  recognised  by  the  woman  who  had 
waited  on  us.  Everybody  spoke  of  Hatfield  as  an  injured 
man.  Afler  dinner  went  to  a  village  six  miles  further, 
where  we  slept. 

*  September  25th,  —  A  beautiful  autumnal  day.  Break- 
fasted at  a  public-hoUse  by  the  road-side ;  dined  at 
Threlkeld ;  and  arrived  at  home  ^  between  eight  and  nine 
o'clock,  where  we  found  Mary  in  perfect  health,  Joanna 

>  Vol.^iii.  p.  30. 

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856  TOUS  IN   SCOTLAND. 

Hutchinson  with  her,  and  little  John  asleep  in  the  clothes- 
basket  by  the  fire/ 

Soon  after  his  return  to  Grasmere,  Wordsworth  ad- 
dressed a  letter  to  Scott,^  from  which  the  following  are 
extracts : 

'  GrasiMTtf  Oct,  16,  1803. 

*  We  had  a  delightful  journey  home,  delightful  weather, 
and  a  sweet  country  to  travel  through.     We  reached  our 

.little  cottage  in  high  spirits,  and  thankful  to  God  for  all  his 
bounties.  My  wife  and  child  were  both  well,  and,  as  I 
need  not  say,  we  had  all  of  us  a  happy  meeting.  .  .  . 
We  passed  Branxholme  (your  Branxholme,  we  supposed) 
about  four  miles  on  this  side  of  Hawick.  It  looks  better 
in  your  poem  than  in  its  present  realities.  The  situation, 
however,  is  delightful,  and  makes  amends  for  an  ordinary 
mansion.  The  whole  of  the  Teviot,  and  the  pastoral 
steeps  about  Mosspaul,  pleased  us  exceedingly.  The 
Esk,  below  Langholm,  is  a  delicious  river,  and  we  saw  it 
to  great  advantage.  We  did  not  omit  noticing  Johnnie 
Armstrong's  Keep  ;  but  his  hanging-place,  to  our  great 
regret,  we  missed.  We  were,  indeed,  most  truly  sorry 
that  we  could  not  have  you  along  with  us  into  Westmore- 
land. The  country  was  in  its  full  glory ;  the  verdure  of 
the  valleys,  in  which  we  are  so  much  superior  to  you  in 
Scotland,  but  little  tarnished  by  the  weather;  and  the 
trees  putting  on  their  most  beautiful  looks.  My  sister 
was  quite  enchanted ;  and  we  often  said  to  each  other, 
"  What  a  pity  Mr.  Scott  is  not  with  us  !  "  .  .  .  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  seeing  Coleridge  and  Southey  at  Keswick 
last  Sunday.    Southey,  whom  I  never  saw  much  of  before, 

*  I  am  indebted  for  this  letter  to  Mr.  Lockhart's  Life  of  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  165. 

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TOUR   IN   SCOTLAND.  857 

I  liked  much  :  he  is  very  pleasant  in  his  manner,  and  a 
man  of  great  reading  in  old  books,  poetry,  chronicles, 
memoirs,  &c.,  particularly  Spanish  and  Portuguese.  .  .  . 
My  sister  and  I  often  talk  of  the  happy  days  that  we  spent 
in  your  company.  Such  things  do  not  occur  oi\en  in  life. 
If  we  live,  we  shall  meet  again ;  that  is  my  consolation 
vi^hen  I  think  of  these  things.  Scotland  and  England 
sound  like  division,  do  what  we  can ;  but  we  really  are 
but  neighbours,  and  if  you  were  no  further  off,  and  in 
Yorkshire,  we  should  think  so.  Farewell !  God  prosper 
you,  and  all  that  belongs  to  you  I  Your  sincere  friend, 
for  such  I  will  call  myself,  though  slow  to  use  a  word  of 
such  solemn  meaning  to  any  one, 

'  W.  Wobdswoeth/ 

To  this  letter  Wordsworth  adds  a  transcript  of  his  Son- 
net on  Nidpath  Castle,  of  which  Scott  had  requested  a 
copy.  In  the  MS.  (says  Mr.  Lockhart)  it  stands  somewhat 
differently  from  the  printed  edition ;  but  in  that  original 
shape  Scott  always,  recited  it,  and  few  lines  in  the  lan- 
guage were  more  frequently  in  his  mouth. 


VOL.  I.  17 


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CHAPTER   XXI. 

SIR  GEOKG£   H.   BEAUMONT,   BART. 

In  the  year  1803,  Wordsworth  became  intimate  with 
Sir  George  H.  Beaumont,*  whose  family-name  has  been 
connected  with  literature  from  the  days  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth ;  and  the  friendship  then  commenced,  which  the 
Poet  reckoned  'among  the  blessings  of  his  life,'^  was 
continued  with  mutual  affection,  till  one  of  the  friends,  Sir 
GJeorge,  was  removed  by  death  in  1827.  Their  names 
will  remain  connected  together,  by  tender  ties  and  beauti- 
ful associations  of  nature  and  art,  as  long  as  the  grounds 
of  Coleorton  retain  their  beauty,  and  the  creations  of  Sir 
George's  pencil  preserve  their  colour",  and  the  poems  of 
Wordsworth  are  read. 

The  occasion  of  the  friendship  was  an  interesting  one. 
Sir  George,  who  was  one  of  the  first  to  discern  the  genius 
of  Wordsworth,  was  residing  in  lodgings  with  Mr.  Cole- 
ridge at  Greta  Hall,  Keswick,  in  1803,  and  was  made  aware 
of  his  intimacy  with  Wordsworth,  and  of  their  desire  to 
live  in  neighbourhood  to  each  other,  for  the  gratification 
and  benefit  of  intellectual  intercourse  and  assistance. 
Actuated  by  love  of  literature,  as  well  as  by  a  feeling  of 
sincere  regard  for  the  two  poets,  he  desired  to  be  the 

'  He  was  a  descendant  of  the  celebrated  dramatist,   Francis 
deaumont. 
*  Dedication  to  Lyrical  Ballads,  edit.  1815. 

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SIB   GEORGE   |l»    BEAUMONT.  SA9 

means  of  bringing  about  their  plan.  He  chose  a  beautiful 
spot  near  Keswick  (Applethwaite),  which  he  purchasedi 
and  presented  to  Wordsworth,  whom  at  that  time  he  had 
not  seen.  In  doing  so,  he  entertained  a  hope  that  one  day 
it  would  be  the  site  of  a  residence  for  him,  near  Coleridge ; 
and  if  this  design  had  been  realized,  Wordsworth  would 
have  been  associated  by  immediate  neighbourhood  with 
another  person,  pre-eminent  for  genius,  learning,  and  in* 
dustry,  Robert  Southey. 

^  I  had,^  says  Sir  Greorge,  writing  to  Wordsworth  on 
October  24th,  1803,  '  a  most  ardent  desire  to  bring  you 
and  Coleridge  together.  I  thought  with  pleasure  on  the 
increase  of  enjoyment  you  would  receive  from  the  beau- 
ties of  nature,  by  being  able  to  communicate  more  fre* 
quently  your  sensations  to  each  other,  and  that  this  would 
be  a  means  of  contributing  to  the  pleasure  and  improve* 
ment  of  the  world,  by  stimulating  you  both  to  poetical 
exertions.^ 

A  beautiful  sonnet,^  by  Wordsworth,  conveyed  an  ac- 
knowledgment of  this  thoughtful  act  of  kindness : 

<  Beaumont  !  it  was  thy  wish  that  I  should  rear 
A  seemly  cottage  in  this  sunny  dell, 
On  favoured  ground,  thy  gift,  —  where  I  might  dwell 
In  neighbourhood  with  One  to  me  most  dear ; 
That,  undivided,  we,  from  year  to  year, 
Might  work  in  our  high  calling.' 

It  is  interesting  to  speculate  on  the  probable  results  of 
the  fulfilment  of  this  design.  However,  it  was  not  accom- 
plished. Coleridge^s  health  required  change  of  climate  ; 
and,  instead  of  taking  up  his  abode  in  a  glen  in  Cumber* 
land,  he  was  soon  to  be  a  voyager  on  the  wide  sea,  and, 
after  he  had  traversed   it,  to   be   enjoying   the  warmer 

>  Vol.  ii.  p.  262. 

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ftW  8IE  OEORGB   H.  BEAUKONT. 

breezes  of  the  valleys  of  Sicily,  and  of  the  terraces  and 
gardens  of  Malta. 

A  letter  from  Mr.  VVordsworth  to  Sir  George  Beaumont, 
written  in  October,  1803,  offers  another  expression  of  his 
gratitude,  and  supplies  some  other  particulars,  which  show 
how  great  an  effort  it  was  to  the  Poet  to  iDrite^  and  how 
fortunate,  therefore,  he  was  in  having  at  hand,  through 
life,  pens  ever  ready  to  commit  his  thoughts  to  paper.  If 
Providence  had  not  blessed  him  with  a  wife,  a  sister,  a 
wife^s  sister,  and  a  daughter,  whose  lives  were  bound  up 
m  his  life,  as  his  was  in  theirs,  and  who  felt,  —  what  the 
world  was  slow  in  admitting,  —  that  his  poems  were  des- 
tined for  immortality,  and  that  it  was  no  small  privilege  to 
be  instrumental  in  conveying  them  to  posterity,  it  is  proba- 
ble that  many  of  his  verses,  muttered  by  him  on  the  roads, 
or  on  the  hills,  or  on  the  terraccrwalks  of  his  own  garden, 
would  have  been  scattered  to  the  winds,  like  the  plaintive 
accents  of  the  deserted  Ariadne  on  the  coast  of  Naxos, 

'  Quae  cuttcta  aerii  discerpunt  irrita  venti/ 

or  like  the  fugitive  verses  of  the  Sibyl  on  the  rocky  shores 
of  Cumse. 

The  following  are  extracts  from  the  letter  referred  to : 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart, 

*  Grasmeref  Oct.  Uth,  1803. 
*  Dear  Sir  George, 

*  If  any  person  were  to  be  informed  of  the  particulars 
of  your  kindness  to  me,  —  if  it  were  described  to  him  in 
all  its  delicacy  and  nobleness,  —  and  he  should  afterwards 
be  told  that  I  suffered  eight  weeks  to  elapse  without 
writing  to  you  one  word  of  thanks  or  acknowledgment,  he 
would  deem  it  a  thing  absolutely  impossible.  It  is  never- 
theless true.     This  is,  in  fact,  the  first  time  that  I  have 

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SIS  GEOBOE   H.  BEAITMONT.  261 

taken  up  a  pen,  not  for  writing  letters,  but  on  any  account 
whatsoever,  except  once,  since  Mr.  Coleridge  showed  me 
the  writings  of  the  Applethwaite  estate,  and  told  me  the 
little  history  of  what  you  had  done  for  me,  the  motives, 
&>c.  I  need  not  say  that  it  gave  me  the  most  heartfelt 
pleasure,  not  for  my  own  sake  chiefly,  though  in  that  point 
of  view  it  might  well  be  most  highly  interesting  to  me, 
but  as  an  act  which,  considered  in  all  its  relations  as  to 
matter  and  manner,  it  would  not  be  too  much  to  say,  did 
honour  to  human  nature  ;  at  least,  I  felt  it  as  such,  and  it 
overpowered  me. 

*  Owing  to  a  set  of  painful  and  uneasy  sensations  which 
I  have,  more  or  less,  at  all  times  about  my  chest,  I  de- 
ferred writing  to  you,  being  at  first  made  still  more  uncom* 
fortable  by  travelling,  and  loathing  to  do  violence  to 
myself,  in  what  ought  to  be  an  act  of  pure  pleasure  and 
enjoyment,  viz.,  the  expression  of  my  deep  sense  of  your 
goodness.  This  feeling  was,  indeed,  so  strong  in  me,  as 
to  make  me  look  upon  the  act  of  writing  to  you,  not  as  the 
work  of  a  moment,  but  as  a  thing  not  to  be  done  but  in 
my  best,  my  purest,  and  my  happiest  moments.  Many  of 
these  1  had,  but  then  1  had  not  my  pen,  ink,  and  paper 
before  me,  my  conveniences,  "  my  appliances  and  means 
to  boot ; "  all  which,  the  moment  that  1  thought  of  them, 
seemed  to  disturb  and  impair  the  sanctity  of  my  pleasure. 
I  contented  myself  with  thinking  over  my  complacent 
feelings,  and  breathing  forth  solitary  gratulations  and 
thanksgivings,  which  1  did  in  many  a  sweet  and  many  a 
wild  place,  during  my  late  tour.  In  this  shape,  procrasti*- 
nation  became  irresistible  to  me  ;  at  last  I  said,  1  will  write 
at  home  from  my  own  fireside,  when  1  shall  be  at  ease 
and  in  comfort.  I  have  now  been  more  than  a  fortnight  at 
home,  but  the  uneasiness  I  have  mentioned  has  made  me 
beat  off  the  time  when  the  pen  was  to  be  taken  up.     I 

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SIB  OBOReB  H.  BBAUMORT. 

do  not  know  from  what  cause  it  is,  but  during  the  last 
three  years  I  have  never  had  a  pen  in  my  hand  for  five 
minutes,  before  my  whole  frame  becomes  one  bundle  of 
uneasiness  ;  a  perspiration  starts  out  all  over  me,  and  my  ^ 
chest  is  oppressed  in  a  manner  which  I  cannot  describe. 
This  is  a  sad  weakness ;  for  I  am  sure,  though  it  is  chiefly 
owing  to  the  state  of  my  body,  that  by  exertion  of  mind  I 
might  in  part  control  it.  So,  however,  it  is ;  and  I  men- 
tion it,  because  I  am  sure  when  you  are  made  acquainted 
with  the  circumstances,  though  the  extent  to  which  it  exists 
nobody  can  well  conceive,  you  will  look  leniently  upon  my 
silence,  and  rather  pity  than  blame  me ;  though  I  must 
still  continue  to  reproach  myself,  as  I  have  done  bitterly 
every  day  for  these  last  eight  weeks. 

•  ••••• 

*  It  is  now  high  time  to  speak  of  the  estate,  and  what  is 
to  be  done  with  it.  It  is  a  most  delightful  situation,  and 
few  things  would  give  me  greater  pleasure  than  to  realize 
the  plan  which  you  had  in  view  for  me,  of  building  a 
house  there.  But  I  am  afraid,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  that  the 
chances  are  very  much  against  this,  partly  on  account  of 
the  state  of  my  own  affairs,  and  still  more  from  the  im- 
probability of  Mr.  Coleridge's  continuing  in  the  country. 
The  writings  are  at  present  in  my  possession,  and  what  I 
should  wish  is,  that  I  might  be  considered  at  present  as 
steward  of  the  land,  with  liberty  to  lay  out  the  rent  in 
planting,  or  any  other  improvement  which  might  be 
thought  advisable,  with  a  view  to  building  upon  it  And 
if  it  should  be  out  of  my  power  to  pitch  my  own  tent 
there,  I  would  then  request  that  you  would  give  me  leave 
to  restore  the  property  to  your  own  hands,  in  order  that 
you  might  have  the  opportunity  of  again  presenting  it  to 
some  worthy  person  who  might  be  so  fortunate  as  to  be 

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SIR  OBOBOE  B.  BEAITXOHT. 

able  to  make  that  pleasant  use  of  it  which  it  was  your 
wish  that  I  should  have  done. 

^  Mr.  Coleridge  informed  me,  that  immediately  after  you 
lefl  Keswick,  he  had,  as  I  requested,  returned  you  thanks 
for  those  two  elegant  drawings  which  you  were  so  good  as 
to  leave  for  me.  The  present  is  valuable  in  itself,  and  I 
consider  it  as  a  high  honour  conferred  on  me.  How  often 
did  we  wish  for  five  minutes^  command  of  your  pencil 
while  we  were  in  Scotland  I  or  rather  that  you  had  been 
with  us. 

^  They  are  sadly  remiss  at  Keswick  in  putting  them* 
selves  to  trouble  in  defence  of  the  country ;  they  came  for- 
ward very  cheerfully  some  time  ago,  but  were  so  thwarted 
by  the  orders  and  counter-orders  of  the  ministry  and  their 
servants,  that  they  have  thrown  up  the  whole  in  disgust. 
At  Grasmere,  we  have  turned  out  almost  to  a  man.  We 
are  to  go  to  Ambleside  on  Sunday  to  be  mustered,  and  put 
on,  for  the  first  time,  our  military  apparel.  I  remain,  dear 
Sir  George,  with  the  most  affectionate  and  respectful 
regard  for  you  and  Lady  Beaumont, 

'  Yours  sincerely, 

'  W.  Wordsworth. 

'  My  sister  will  transcribe  three  sonnets,  i  which  I  do 
not  send  you  from  any  notion  I  have  of  their  merit,  but 
merely  because  they  are  the  only  verses  I  have  written 
since  I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  and  Lady  Beau* 


*  "Written  at  Nidpath,  near  Peebles,  a  mansion  of  the  Duke  of 
Queensbury  :  '  Now  as  I  live,  1  pity  that  great  Lord,'  dec.  To  the 
Men  of  Kent :  *  Vanguard  of  Liberty,  ye  Men  of  Kent !  *  &c. 
(Vol.  iii.  p.  64.)  Anticipation :  '  Shout,  for  a  mighty  victory  is 
won ! '  &c.  (Vol.  iii.  p.  66.) 


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864  Sn  GBOBOB  h.  bbaumont. 

moot.  At  the  sight  of  Kilchum  Castle,  an  ancient  resi- 
dence of  the  Breadalbanes,  upon  an  island  in  Loch  Awe, 
I  felt  a  real  poetical  impulse :  but  I  did  not  proceed.  I 
began  a  poem  (apostrophizing  the  castle)  thus : 

'*  Child  of  Loud-throated  war !  the  mouDtain  stream 
Boars  in  thy  hearing ;  but  thy  hour  of  rest 
^^     Is  come,  and  thou  art  silent  in  thine  age."  ' 

The  apprehension  of  a  French  invasion,  to  which  the 
concluding  sentences  refer,  was  then  spread  far  and  wide. 
'  I  have  raised  a  corps  of  infantry  at  Coleorton,'  says  Sir 
George,  *  and  another  of  pioneers  at  Dunmow,  and  have 
my  share  in  another  of  infantry  at  Haverhill.  ...  I  am 
delighted  with  your  patriotic  effusions,  and,  as  I  have  your 
permission,  shall  send  them  to  the  papers.  I  give  you  the 
highest  credit  for  your  military  exertions :  ...  we  must 
all  come  to  it  at  last.' 

Wordsworth  had  cherished  the  hope  of  enjoying  the 
society  of  Sir  George  Beaumont  as  a  neighbour  at  Gras- 
mere.  Sir  George,  with  a  painter's  eye,  had  remarked 
the  beauties  of  that  circular  pool  on  Loughrigg  which  has 
been  compared  to  the  Italian  Lake  of  Nemi,  the  Speculum 
Dian<E^  and  which  lies  at  a  little  distance  to  the  south  of 

'  Mr.  "Wordsworth  thus  describes  Loughrigg  Tarn  (Guide 
through  the  Lakes,  edit.  London,  1835,  page  24,  Tarns) :  — 
'  Of  this  class  of  miniature  lakes,  Loughrigg  Tarn,  near  Gras- 
mere,  is  the  most  beautiful  example.  It  has  a  margin  of  green 
firm  meadows,  of  rocks,  and  rocky  woods,  a  few  reeds  here,  a 
little  company  of  water-lilies  ther^  with  beds  of  gravel  or  stone 
beyond ,  a  tiny  stream  issuing  neither  briskly  nor  sluggishly  out 
of  it ;  but  its  feeding  rills,  from  the  shortness  of  their  course,  so 
small  as  to  be  scarcely  visible.  Five  or  six  cottages  are  reflected 
in  its  peaceful  bosom  j  rocky  and  barren  steeps  rise  up  above  the 
hanging  inclosures  j  and  the  solemn  pikes  of  Langdale  overlook, 
from  a  distance,  the  low  cultivated  ridge  of  land  that  forms  the 
northern  boundary  of  this  small,  quiet,  and  fertile  domain.' 

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SIB  GEOSGE  H.   BEAUXONT.  365 

that  eminence  (at  the  south-west  of  Grasmere  Lake)  which 
Gray  has  pointed  out  as  one  of  the  most  picturesque  in 
that  fair  region.  Sir  George  had  intended  to  build  a  cot- 
tage-abode on  its  banks ;  and  it  was  a  long-cherished  hope, 
both  of  himself  and  his  friends,  that  he  would  do  so.  His 
refined  taste,  his  love  of  literature  and  the  arts,  united  with 
delicate  tact,  and,  above  all,  with  a  liberal  largeness  of 
soul,  and  an  unaffected  admiration  of  whatever  was  great 
and  good,  would  have  made  his  residence  in  this  country 
a  public  benefit. 

Mr.  Wordsworth  has  referred  to  that  intention  in  the 
lines  addressed  to  Sir  George,^  where  he  speaks  of 
Loughrigg  Tarn :  — 

'  Thus  gladdened  from  our  own  dear  Vale  we  pass, 
And  soon  approach  Diana's  Looking-glass  ; 
To  Loughrigg  Tarn  —  round,  clear  and  bright  as  heaven, 
Such  name  Italian  Fancy  would  have  given.' 

The  Poet  contemplating  the  beauties  of  the  Tarn  which 
he  describes,  imagines  the  house  to  be  already  built  by 
his  friend  :  — 

'  A  glimpse  I  caught  of  that  abode,  by  thee 
Designed  to  rise  in  humble  privacy    ... 
And  thought  in  silence,  with  regret  too  keen, 
Of  unexperienced  joys,  that  might  have  been, 
Of  neighbourhood,  and  intermingling  arts. 
And  golden  summer-days  uniting  cheerful  hearts.'  ^ 

*  Vol.  V.  p.  6,  beginning,  '  Far  from  our  home.' 

*  The  reader  will  recollect^  an  interesting  example  of  these 
'  intermingling  arts'  in  Mr.  "Wordsworth's  verses  (vol.  ii.  p.  264.) 
*  Upon  the  sight  of  a  beautiful  picture  painted  by  Sir  G.  H.  Beau- 
mont, Bart : ' 

'  Praised  be  the  Art  whose  subtle  power  could  slay 
Yon  cloud,  and  fix  it  in  that  glorious  shape  j 
Nor  would  permit  the  thin  smoke  to  escape. 
Nor  those  bright  sunbeams  to  forsake  the  day ; 

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M6  8tR  OBOBGB   H.   BBAVXaNT. 

This  design  of  Sir  George  was  never  accomplished.  It 
failed  in  consequence  of  local  circumstances,  ^  which  need 
not  be  particularized/  The  Tarn,  which  had  become  Sir 
George^s  property,  was  re-sold,  and  the  purchase  money, 
placed  by  him  at  Mr.  Wordsworth^s  disposal,  was  laid  out 
by  him  in  planting  the  yew-trees,  which  are  now  one  of 
the  most  beautiful  ornaments  of  Grasmere  church-yard, 
and  shroud  the  Poet^s  grave  and  that  of  his  family. 

The  following  communications  exhibit  a  specimen  of 
the  communion  of  arts  mentioned  in  the  above  poem,  — 
a  communion  happily  displayed  afterwards  to  the  world 
in  the  paintings  from  Sir  George^s  hand,  illustrative  of 
Wordsworth's  poems  — *  The  Thorn,"  The  White  Doe,' 
*  Peter  Bell,'  and  '  Lucy  Gray ; '  and  also  record  the  Poet's 
feelings  toward  his  friend : 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

*  Grasmere,  July  20,  1804. 
*  Dear  Sir  George, 

*  A  few  days  ago  I  received  from  Mr.  Southey  your 
very  acceptable  present  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds's  Works,  ' 
which,  with  the  Life,  I  have  nearly  read  through.  Sev- 
eral of  the  Discoures  I  had  read  before,  though  never 
regularly  together:  they  have  very  much  added  to  the 
high  opinion  which  I  before  entertained  of  Sir  Joshua 


Which  stopped  that  band  of  travellers  on  their  way, 
Ere  they  were  lost  within  the  shady  wood ; 
And  showed  the  Bark  upon  the  glassy  flood 
For  ever  anchored  in  her  sheltering  bay : ' 

and  also  in  the  verses  on  the  picture  of  Feele  Castle,  painted  by 
Sir  (Jeorge  (vol.  v.  p.  126.) 


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SIB  GSOB6E  H.   BEAUMONT.  267 

Reynolds.  Of  a  great  part  of  them,  never  having  had  an 
opportunity  of  studying  any  pictures  whatsoever,  I  can  be 
but  a  very  injadequate  judge ;  but  of  such  parts  of  the 
Discourses  as  relate  to  general  philosophy,  I  may  be 
entitled  to  speak  with  more  confidence ;  and  it  gives  me 
great  pleasure  to  say  to  you,  knowing  your  great  regard 
for  Sir  Joshua,  that  they  appear  to  me  highly  honourable 
to  him.  The  sound  judgment  universally  displayed  in 
these  Discourses  is  truly  admirable,  —  I  mean  the  deep 
conviction  of  the  necessity  of  unwearied  labour  and  dili- 
gence, the  reverence  for  the  great  men  of  his  art,  and  the 
comprehensive  and  unexclusive  character  of  his  taste.  Is 
it  not  a  pity.  Sir  George,  that  a  man  with  such  a  high 
sense  of  the  dignity  of  his  art,  and  with  such  industry, 
should  not  have  given  more  of  his  time  to  the  nobler 
departments  of  painting  ?  I  do  not  say  this  so  much  dn 
account  of  what  the  world  would  have  gained  by  the  supe- 
rior excellence  and  interest  of  his  pictures,  though  doubt- 
less that  would  have  been  very  considerable,  but  for  the 
sake  of  example.  It  is  such  an  animating  sight  to  see  a 
man  of  genius,  regardless  of  temporary  gains,  whether  of 
money  or  praise,  fixing  his  attention  solely  upon  what  is 
intrinsically  interesting  and  permanent,  and  finding  his 
happiness  in  an  entire  devotion  of  himself  to  such  pur- 
suits as  shall  most  ennoble  human  nature.  We  have  not 
yet  seen  enough  of  this  in  modern  times ;  and  never  was 
there  a  period  in  society  when  such  examples  were  likely 
to  do  more  good  than  at  present.  The  industry  and  love 
of  truth  which  distinguish  Sir  Joshua^s  mind  are  most 
admirable ;  but  he  appears  to  me  to  have  lived  too  much 
for  the  age  in  which  he  lived,  and  the  people  among 
whom  he  lived,  though  this  in  an  infinitely  less  degree 
than  his  friend  Burke,  of  whom  Goldsmith  said,  with  such 
truth,  long  ago,  that — 

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868  SIR  OBORQE   H.   BEAUMONT. 

<'Born  for  the  nnirerse,  be  narrowed  his  mind. 
And  to  party  gave  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind.*' 

I  should  not  have  said  thus  much  of  Reynolds,  which  I 
have  not  said  without  pain,  but  because  I  have  so  great  a 
respect  for  his  character,  and  because  he  lived  at  a  time 
when,  being  the  first  Englishman  distinguished  for  excel- 
lence in  the  higher  department  of  painting,  he  had  the  . 
field  fairly  open  for  him  to  have  given  an  example,  upon 
which  all  eyes  needs  must  have  been  fixed,  of  a  man  pre- 
ferring the  cultivation  and  exertion  of  his  own  powers 
in  the  highest  possible  degree  to  any  other  object  of 
regard. 

'         .  .  .  How  sorry  we  all  are  under  this 

roof,  that  we  cannot  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you  and 
Lady  Beaumont  down  this  summer!  The  weather  has 
been  most  glorious,  and  the  country,  of  course,  most 
delightful.  Our  own  valley  in  particular  was  last  night, 
by  the  light  of  the  full  moon,  and  in  the  perfect  stillness 
of  the  lake,  a  scene  of  loveliness  and  repose  as  affecting 
as  was  ever  beheld  by  the  eye  of  man.  We  have  had  a 
day  and  a  half  of  Mr.  Davy's  company  at  Grasmere,  and 
no  more :  he  seemed  to  leave  us  with  great  regret,  being 
post-hEuste  on  his  way  to  Edinburgh.  I  went  with  him  to 
Paterdale,  on  his  road  to  Penrith,  where  he  would  take 
coach.  We  had  a  deal  of,  talk  about  you  and  Lady  Beau- 
mont :  he  was  in  your  debt  a  letter,  as  I  found,  and  ex- 
ceedingly sorry  that  he  had  not  been  able  to  get  over 
to  see  you,  having  been  engaged  at  Mr.  Coke's  sheep- 
shearing,  which  had  not  \eh  him  time  to  cross  from  the 
Duke  of  Bedford's  to  your  place.  We  had  a  very  pleasant 
interview,  though  far  too  short.  He  is  a  most  interesting 
man.  .... 

*  That  Loughrigg  Tarn,  beautiful  pool  of  water  as  it  is, 
is  a  perpetual  mortification  to  me  when  I  think  that  you 

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SIR  GEOB6E   H.   BEAUMONT.  369 

and  Lady  Beaumont  were  so  near  having  a  summer-nest 
there.  This  is  often  talked  over  among  us;  and  we 
always  end  the  subject  with  a  feeling  of  regret.  But  I 
must  think  of  concluding.  My  sister  thanks  Lady  Beau- 
mont for  her  last  letter,  and  will  write  to  her  in  a  few  days ; 
but  I  must  say  to  her  myself  how  happy  I  was  to  hear  that 
her  sister  had  derived  any  consolation  from  Coleridge's 
poems  and  mine.  I  must  also  add  how  much  pleasure  it 
gives  me  that  Lady  Beaumont  is  so  kindly,  so  affectionately 
disposed  to  my  dear  and  good  sister,  and  also  to  the  other 
unknown  parts  of  my  family.  Could  we  but  have  Cole- 
ridge back  among  us  again !  There  is  no  happiness  in 
this  life  but  in  intellect  and  virtue.  Those  were  very 
pretty  verses  which  Lady  Beaumont  sent ;  and  we  were 

much  obliged  to  her  for  them 

Farewell.     Believe  me,  with  the  sincerest  love  and  affec- 
tion for  you  and  Lady  Beaumont, 
'  Yours, 

'  Wm.  Wordsworth.' 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

'Grasmere,  Aug.  30,  (?)  1804. 
'  Dear  Sir  George, 
'  Wednesday  last,  Mrs.  Colerjdge,  as  she  may,  perhaps, 
herself  have  informed  you  or  Lady  Beaumont,  received  a 
letter  from  Coleridge.  I  happened  to  be  at  Keswick  when 
it  arrived  ;  and  she  has  sent  it  over  to  us  to-day.  I  will 
transcribe  the  most  material  parts  of  it,  first  assuring  you, 
to  remove  anxiety  on  your  part,  that  the  contents  are,  we 
think,  upon  the  whole,  promising.  He  begins  thus  (date, 
June  5,  1604,  Tuesday  noon  ;  Dr.  Stoddart's,  Malta)  :  — 
"  I  landed,  in  more  than  usual  health,  in  the  harbour  of 
Valetta,  about  four  o'clock,  Friday  afternoon,  April  18. 

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870  SIS  OSOSMS  B.  BBAUIIOIIT* 

Since  then  I  have  been  waiting,  day  after  day,  for  the 
departure  of  Mr.  Laing,  tutor  of  the  only  child  of  Sir  A« 
Ball,  our  civil  governor/* 

^  My  sister  has  to  thank  Lady  Beaumont  for  a  letter ; 
but  she  is  at  present  unable  to  write,  from  a  violent  inflam- 
mation in  her  eyes,  which  I  hope  is  no  more  than  the 
complaint  going  about :  but  as  she  has  lately  been  over- 
fatigued,  and  is  in  other  respects  unwell,  I  am  not  without 
fear  that  the  indisposition  in  her  eyes  may  last  some  time. 
As  soon  as  she  is  able,  she  will  do  herself  the  pleasure  of 
writing  to  Lady  Beaumont.  Mrs,  Wordsworth  and  Lady 
B.'s  little  god-daughter  ^  are  both  doing  very  well.  Had 
the  child  been  a  boy,  we  should  have  persisted  in  our  right 
to  avail  ourselves  of  Lady  Beaumont^s  goodness  in  offering 
to  stand  sponsor  for  it  The  name  of  Dorothy^  obsolete 
as  it  is  now  grown,  had  been  so  long  devoted  in  my  own 
thoughts  to  the  first  daughter  that  I  might  have,  that  I 
could  not  break  this  promise  to  myself — a  promise  in 
which  my  wife  participated ;  though  the  name  of  Mary^ 
to  my  ear  the  most  musical  and  truly  English  in  sound  we 
have,  would  have  otherwise  been  most  welcome  to  me, 
including,  as  it  would.  Lady  Beaumont  and  its  mother. 
This  last  sentence,  though  in  a  letter  to  you.  Sir  George, 
is  intended  for  Lady  Beaumont. 

'  When  I  ventured  to  express  my  regret  at  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds  giving  so  much  of  his  time  to  portrait-painting 
and  to  his  friends,  I  did  not  mean  to  recommend  absolute 
solitude  and  seclusion  from  the  world  as  an  advantage  to 
him  or  anybody  else.  I  think  it  a  great  evil ;  and  indeed, 
in  the  case  of  a  painter,  frequent  intercourse  with  the  liv- 

^  Dora  Wordsworth,  born  Aug.  16,  1804. 

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SIS  OEOBGB  H.   BEAUMONT.  271 

ing  world  seems  absolutely  necessary  to  keep  the  mind  in 
health  and  vigour.  I  spoke,  in  some  respects,  in  compli- 
ment to  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  feeling  deeply,  as  I  do,  the 
power  of  his  genius,  and  loving  passionately  the  labours  of 
genius  in  every  way  in  which  I  am  capable  of  compre- 
hending them.  Mr.  Malone,  in  the  account  prefixed  to 
the  Discourses,  tells  us  that  Sir  Joshua  generally  passed 
the  time  from  eleven  till  four  every  day  in  portrait-paint- 
ing. This  it  was  that  grieved  me,  as  a  sacrifice  of  great 
things  to  little  ones.  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  hear 
from  you  at  your  leisure.  I  am  anxious  to  know  that  you 
are  satisfied  with  the  site  and  intended  plan  of  your  house. 
I  suppose  no  man  ever  built  a  house  without  finding,  when 
it  was  finished,  that  something  in  it  might  have  been  better 
done.  Internal  architecture  seems  to  have  arrived  at 
great  excellence  in  England  ;  but,  I  don't  know  how  it  is, 
I  scarcely  ever  see  the  outside  of  a  new  house  that  pleases 
me.  But  I  must  break  off.  Believe  me,  with  best  remem- 
brances from  my  wife  and  sister  to  yourself  and  Lady 
Beaumont, 

*  Yours, 
*  With  the  greatest  respect  and  regard, 

'W.  Wordsworth. 

*  My  poetical  labours  have  been  entirely  suspended 
during  the  last  two  months :  I  am  most  anxious  to  return 
to  them.' 

The  following  was  written  in  1811 :  — 

'August  28,  1811,  Cottage,  7  minutes'  walk  from 
the  seaside,  near  Bootle,  Cumberland* 

*  My  dear  Sir  George, 
^  How  shall  I  appear  before  you  again  after  so  long  an 

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272  SIR  eSOBGE  h.  bbaumomt. 

interval  ?  It  seems  that  now  I  ought  lather  to  begin  with 
an  apology  for  writing,  than  for  not  having  written  during 
a  space  of  almost  twelve  months.  I  have  blamed  mys^f 
not  a  little ;  yet  not  so  much  as  I  should  have  done  had  I 
not  known  that  the  main  cause  of  my  silence  has  been  the 
affection  I  feel  for  you  ;  on  which  account  it  is  not  so  easy 
to  me  to  write  upon  trifling  or  daily  occurrences  to  you  as 
it  would  be  to  write  to  another  whom  I  loved  less. 
Accordingly  these  have  not  had  power  to  tempt  me  to 
take  up  the  pen ;  and  in  the  mean  while,  from  my  more 
intimate  concerns  I  have  abstained,  partly  because  I  do 
not,  in  many  cases,  myself  like  to  see  the  reflection  of 
them  upon  paper,  and  still  more  because  it  is  my  wish  at 
all  times,  when  I  think  of  the  state  in  which  your  health 
and  spirits  may  happen  to  be,  that  my  letter  should  be 
wholly  free  from  melancholy,  and  breathe  nothing  but 
cheerfulness  and  pleasure.  Having  made  this  avowal,  I 
trust  that  what  may  be  wanting  to  my  justification  will  be 
made  up  by  your  kindness  and  forgiving  disposition. 

^  It  was  near  about  this  time  last  year  that  we  were  em- 
ployed in  our  pleasant  tour  to  the  Leasowes  and  Hagley. 
The  twelve  months  that  have  elapsed  have  not  impaired 
the  impressions  which  those  scenes  made  upon  me,  nor 
weakened  my  remembrance  of  the  delight  which  the 
places  and  objects,  and  the  conversations  they  led  to, 
awakened  in  our  minds. 

*  It  is  very  late  to  mention,  that  when  in  Wales,  last 
autumn,  I  contrived  to  pass  a  day  and  a  half  with  your 
friend  Price  at  Foxley.  He  was  very  kind,  and  took  due 
pains  to  show  me  all  the  beauties  of  his  place.  I  should 
have  been  very  insensible  not  to  be  pleased  with,  and  grate- 
ful for,  his  attentions ;  and  certainly  I  was  gratified  by  the 
sight  of  the  scenes  through  which  he  conducted  me. 

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.8IB  GBOiaS  H.   BXAUMaNt.  fftt 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

*  I  was  less  able  to  do  justice  in  my  own  mind  to  the 
scenery  of  Foxley.  You  will,  perhaps,  think  it  is  a  strange 
fault  that  I  am  going  to  find  with  it,  considering  the 
acknowledged  taste  of  the  owner,  viz.,  that,  small  as  it  is 
compared  with  hundreds  of  places,  the  domain  is  too 
extensive  for  the  character  of  the  country.  Wanting-  both 
rock  and  water,  it  necessarily  wants  variety ;  and  in  a  dis- 
trict of  this  kind,  the  portion  of  a  gentleman's  estate 
which  he  keeps  exclusively  to  himself,  and  which  he 
devotes,  wholly  or  in  part,  to  ornament,  may  very  easily 
exceed  the  proper  bounds,  —  not,  indeed,  as  to  the  pre- 
servation of  wood,  but  most  easily  as  to  every  thing  else. 
A  man  by  little  and  little  becomes  so  delicate  and  fas- 
tidious with  respect  to  forms  in  scenery,  where  he  has  a 
power  to  exercise  a  control  over  them,  that  if  they  do  not 
exactly  please  him  in  all  moods  and  every  point  of  view, 
his  power  becomes  his  law ;  he  banishes  one,  and  then 
rids  himself  of  another ;  impoverishing  and  monotonizing 
landscapes,  which,  if  not  originally  distinguished  by  the 
bounty  of  nature,  must  be  ill  able  to  spare  the  inspiriting 
varieties  which  art,  and  the  occupations  and  wants  of  life 
in  a  country  left  more  to  itself,  never  fail  to  produce. 
This  relish  of  humanity  Foxley  wants,  and  is  therefore  to 
me,  in  spite  of  all  its  recommendations,  a  melancholy  spot, 
—  I  mean  that  part  of  it  which  the  owner  keeps  to  him- 
self, and  has  taken  so  muc)i  pains  with.  I  heard  the  oth^r 
ddy  of  two  artists  who  thus  expressed  themselves  upon  the 
subject  of  a  scene  among  our  lakes :  "  Plague  upon  those 
vile  inclosures ! "  said  one ;  "  they  spoil  every  thing." 
"  Oh,"  said  the  other,  "  I  never  see  them."  Glover  was 
the  name  of  this  last.  Now,  for  my  part,  I  should  not 
wish  to  be  either  of  these  gentlemen ;  but  to  have  in  my 
own  mind  the  power  of  turning  to  advantage,  wherever  it 

VOL.  I.  18  r  I 

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1^74  SIE  GSOBOB  H.  B|AVICaHT. 

is  possible,  every  object  of  art  and  nature  as  they  appear 
before  me.  What  a  noble  instance,  as  you  have  often 
pointed  out  to  me,  has  Rubens  given  of  this  in  that  picture 
in  your  possession,  where  he  has  brought,  as  it  were,  a 
whole  county  into  one  landscape,  and  made  the  most  for- 
mal partitions  of  cultivation,  hedge-rows  of  pollard  willows, 
conduct  the  eye  into  the  depths  and  distances  of  his  pic- 
ture ;  and  thus,  more  than  by  any  other  means,  has  given 
it  that  appearance  of  immensity  which  is  so  striking.  As 
I  have  slipped  into  the  subject  of  painting,  I  feel  anxious 
to  inquire  whether  your  pencil  has  been  busy  last  winter 
in  the  solitude  and  uninterrupted  quiet  of  Dunmow.  Most 
lijcely  you  know  that  we  have  changed  our  residence  in 
Grasmere,  which  I  hope  will  be  attended  with  a  great 
overbalance  of  advantages.  One  we  are  certain  of —  that 
we  have  at  least  one  sitting-room  clear  of  smoke,  I  trust, 

in  all  winds Over  the  chimney-piece 

is  hung  your  little  picture,  from  the  neighbourhood  of 
Coleorton.  In  our  other  house,  on  account  of  the  fre- 
quent fits  of  smoke  from  the  chimneys,  both  the  pictures 
which  I  have  from  your  hand  were  confined  to  bed-rooms. 
A  few  days  after  I  had  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  seeing,  in 
different  moods  of  mind,  your  Coleorton  landscape  from  my 
fire-side,  it  suggested  to  me  the  following  sonnet,  which, 
having  walked  out  to  the  side  of  Grasmere  brook,  where 
it  murmurs  through  the  meadows  near  the  church,  I  com- 
posed immediately :  ^ 

"  Praised  be  the  art  whose  subtle  power  could  stay- 
Yon  cloud,  and  fix  it  in  that  glorious  shape  ; 
Nor  would  permit  the  thin  smoke  to  escape, 
Nor  those  bright  sunbeams  to  forsake  the  day ; 
Which,  stopped  that  band  of  travellers  on  their  way, 

»  Vrf.  ii.  p.  264. 

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SIR  OSOV^E   H.   BZAVMOHT.  S75 

Ere  they  were  lost  within  the  shady  wood ; 
And  showed  the  bark  upon  the  glassy  flood 
For  ever  anchored  in  her  sheltering  bay." 


*  The  images  of  the  smoke  and  the  travellers  are  taken 
from  your  picture ;  the  rest  were  added,  in  order  to  place 
the  thought  in  a  clear  point  of  view,  and  for  the  sake  of 
variety.  I  hope  Coleorton  continues  to  improve  upon  you 
and  Lady  Beaumont ;  and  that  Mr.  Taylor's  new  laws*and 
regulations  are  at  least  peaceably  submitted  to.  Mrs.  W. 
and  I  return  in  a  few  days  to  Grasmere.  We  cannot  say 
that  the  child  for  whose  sake  we  came  down  to  the  sea-side 
has  derived  much  benefit  from  the  bathing.  The  weather 
has  been  very  unfavourable  :  we  have,  however,  contrived 
to  see  every  thing  that  lies  within  a  reasonable  walk  of  our 
present  residence ;  among  other  places,  Mulcaster  —  at 
least  as  much  of  it  as  can  be  seen  from  the  public  road ; 
but  the  noble  proprietor  has  contrived  to  shut  himself  up 
so  with  plantations  and  chained  gates  and  locks,  that  what- 
ever prospects  he  may  command  from  his  stately  prison, 
or  rather  fortification,  can  only  be  guessed  at  by  the  pass- 
ing traveller.  In  the  state  of  blindness  and  unprofitable 
peeping  in  which  we  were  compelled  to  pursue  our  way 
up  a  long  and  steep  hill,  I  could  not  help  observing  to  my 
companion  that  the  Hibernian  peer  had  completely  given 
the  lie  to  the  poet  Thomson,  when,  in  a  strain  of  proud 
enthusiasm,  he  boasts, 

"I  care  not,  Fortune,  what  you  me  deny. 

You  cannot  rob  me  of  free  Nature's  grace ; 
You  cannot  shut  the  windows  of  the  sky, 

Through  which  Aurora  shows  her  brightening  face ; 
You  cannot  bar  my  constant  feet  to  trace 
The  woods  and  l9wns  by  living  stream,"  &c. 

{Castle  of  Lidolence,) 


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276  SIB  GB0S6B   H.  BSAUMONT. 

The  windows  of  the  sky  were  not  shU^  indeed,  but  the 
business  was  done  more  thorougbly ;  for  the  sky  was  nearly 
shut  out  altogether.  This  is  like  most  others,  a  bleak  and 
treeless  coast,  but  abounding  in  corn-fields,  and  with  a 
noble  beach,  which  is  delightful  either  for  walking  or 
riding.  The  Isle  of  Man  is  right  opposite  our  window; 
and  though  in  this  unsettled  weather  ofieh  invisible,  its 
appearance  has  afforded  us  great  amusement.  One  after- 
noon, above  the  whole  length  of  it  was  stretched  a  body 
of  clouds,  shaped  and  coloured  like  a  magnificent  grove 
in  winter  when  whitened  with  snow  and  illuminated  by 
the  morning  sun,  which,  having  melted  the  snow  in  part, 
has  intermingled  black  masses  among  the  brightness. 
The  whole  sky  was  scattered  over  with  fleecy  dark  clouds, 
such  as  any  sunshiny  day  produces,  and  which  were 
changing  their  shapes  and  position  every  moment.  But 
this  line  of  clouds  immoveably  attached  themselves  to  the 
island,  and  manifestly  took  their  shape  from  the  influence 
of  its  mountains.  There  appeared  to  be  just  span  enough 
of  sky  to  allow  the  hand  to  slide  between  the  top  of 
Snafell,  the  highest  peak  in  the  island,  and  the  base  of 
this  glorious  forest,  in  which  little  change  was  noticeable 
for  more  than  the  space  of  half  an  hour.  We  had  an- 
other fine  sight  one  evening,  walking  along  a  rising 
ground,  about  two  miles  distant  from  the  shore.  It  was 
about  the  hour  of  sunset,  and  the  sea  was  perfectly  calm  ; 
and  in  a.  quarter  where  its  surface  was  indistinguishable 
from  the  western  sky,  hazy,  and  luminous  with  the  setting 
sun,  appeared  a  tall  sloop-rigged  vessel,  magnified  by  the 
atmosphere  through  which  it  was  viewed,  and  seeming 
rather  to  hang  ia  the  air  than  to  float  upon  the  waters. 
Milton  compares  the  appearance  of  Satan  to  a  fleet  de- 
scried far  oflf  at  sea.  The  visionary  grandeur  and  beauti- 
ful form  of  this  single  vessel,  could  words  have  conveyed 

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SIB  aSOl^E   H.  BEAUMONT.  877 

to  the  mind  the  picture  which  nature  presented  to  the  eye, 
would  have  suited  his  purpose  as  well  as  the  largest  com- 
pany of  vessels  that  ever  associated  together  with  the  help 
of  a  trade  wind  in  the  wide  ocean ;  yet  not  exactly  so, 
and  for  this  reason,  that  his  image  is  a  permanent  one,  not 
dependent  upon  accident. 

^  I  have  not  lefl  myself  room  to  assure  you  how  sin- 
cerely I  remain, 

*  Your  affectionate  friend, 

'W.  WoRDSWOETH.' 

Sir  George  Beaumont  died  on  the  7th  February,  1827, 
in  the  seventy-third* year  of  his  age,  having  bequeathed  to 
Mr.  Wordsworth  an  annuity  of  lOOZ.,  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  a  yearly  tour.  Fie  was  buried  at  Coleorton. 
It  was  his  desire  that  no  other  epitaph  should  be  inscribed 
on  his  monument  except  the  particulars  of  his  age  and 
place  of  abode,  and  the  words  '  Enter  not  into  judgment 
with  thy  servant,  O  Lord.'  But  his  friend,  wh9  survived 
him,  could  not  restrain  the  emotions  of  his  heart;  and 
when,  in  November,  1830,  he  next  visited  the  grounds  of 
Coleorton,  associated  with  some  of  his  happiest  hours  and 
tenderest  feelings,  he  poured  forth  ^  those  Elegiac  Mus- 

>  The  following  lines  from  these  Musings  are  descriptive  of  Sir 
Greorge's  character.  Speaking  of  his  repugnance  to  any  eulogy  on 
his  tomb;  the  Poet  says : 

'  Such  offering  Beaumont  dreaded  and  forbade, 
A  spirit  meek  in  self-abasement  clad. 
Yet  here  at  least,  though  few  have  numbered  days 
That  shunned  so  modestly  the  light  of  praise, 
His  graceful  manners,  and  the  temperate  ray 
Of  that  arch  fancy  which  would  round  him  play, 
Brightening  a  converse  never  known  to  swerve  - 
From  courtesy^  and  delicate  reserve ; 

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278  SIS  6B0BGE   ■.  BBAUMOHT. 

ings  ^  which  delineate  the  virtues  and  graces  of  the  de- 
parted, whom  he  had  loved  so  well ;  and  in  1837,  in  a 
distant  land,  when  for  the  first  time  Wordsworth  visited 
Rome,  and  on  the  day  of  his  arrival  there,  nothing  among 
the  heauties  and  glories  of  the  Eternal  City,  then  opening 
on  his  view,  so  much  moved  him  as  the  sight  of  the 
picturesque  pine-tree  rescued  from  destruction  hy  his 
friend :  ^ 

'  When  I  learned  the  tree  was  living  there, 
Saved  from  the  sordid  axe  by  Beaumoi^'s  care, 
Oh,  what  a  gn.sh  of  tenderness  was  mine  ! 
The  rescued  pine-tree,  with  its  sky  so  bright. 
And  cloud-like  beauty,  rich  in  thoughts  of  home, 

That  sense,  the  bland  philosophy  of  life, 
Which  checked  discussion  ere  it  warmed  to  strife  ; 
Those  rare  accomplishments,  and  varied  powers, 
Might  have  their  record  among  sylvan  bowers. 
Oh,  fled  for  ever !  vanished  like  a  blast 
That  shook  the  leaves  in  myriads  as  it  passed  j  — 
Grone  from  this  world  of  earth,  air,  sea,  and  sky, 
From  all  its  spirit-moving  imagery. 
Intensely  studied  with  a  painter's  eye, 
A  poet's  heart ;  and,  for  congenial  view. 
Portrayed  with  happiest  pencil,  not  untrue 
To  common  recognitions  while  the  line 
Flowed  in  a  course  of  sympathy  divine ;  — 
Oh !  severed,  too  abruptly,  from  delights 
That  all  the  seasons  shared  with  equal  rights ;  — 
Rapt  in  the  grace  of  undismantled  age, 
'  From  soul-felt  music,  and  the  treasured  page 

Lit  by  that  evening  lamp  which  loved  to  shed 
Its  mellow  lustre  round  thy  honoured  head ; 
While  Friends  beheld  thee  give  with  eye,  voice,  mien. 
More  than  theatric  force  to  Shakspeare's  scene.' 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  140.  «  Vol.  iii.  p.  163. 

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SIR  OEOBGK   H.   BEAUMONT.  279 

Death-parted  friendsi  and  days  too  swift  in  flight, 
Supplanted  the  whole  majesty  of  Kome 
(Then  first  apparent  from  the  Pincian  height) 
Crowned  with  St.  Peter*s  everlasting  dome.^ 

[The  following  entry  in  Sir  Walter  Scott's  '  Diary '  records  his 
opinion  of  the  subject  of  this  chapter. 

*  February  14,  1827.  Sir  George  Beaumont 's  dead  5  by  far 
the  most  sensible  and  pleasing  man  I  ever  knew  —  kind  too,  in 
Ms  nature,  and  generous  —  gentle  in  society,  and  of  those  mild 
manners  which  tend  to  soften  the  causticity  of  the  general  London 
tone  of  persiflage  and  personal  satire.  As  an  amateur  painter, 
lie  was  of  the  very  highest  distinction ;  and  though  I  know  no- 
thing of  the  matter,  yet  I  should  hold  him  a  perfect  critic  on  paint* 
ing,  for  he  always  made  his  criticisms  intelligible,  and  used  no 
slang.'  —  Lockharfs  Life  of  Scott,  Vol.  ix.  Chap,  uciiv.  p.  89.  — 
H.  s.] 


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CHAPTER   XXII. 


CAPTAIN   WORDSWORTH. 

Among  Wordsworth^s  '  Poems  on  the  naming  of  Places/ 
is  one  beginning  with  these  words  :  ^ 

'  When,  to  the  attractions  of  the  busy  world 
Preferring  studious  leisure,  I  had  chosen 
A  habitation  in  this  peaceful  vale. 
Sharp  season  followed  of  continual  storm 
In  deepest  winter,  and,  from  week  to  week, 
Pathway,  and  lane,  and  public  road  were  clogged 
With  frequent  showers  of  snow.' 

This  was  in  the  beginning  of  1800.  It  has  been  already- 
mentioned  that  at  that  time  the  Poet's  second  brother, 
Captain  Wordsworth,  about  two  years  and  eight  months 
younger  than  William,  was  an  inmate  of  his  cottage  : 

'  To  abide 
For  an  allotted  interval  of  ease. 
Under  my  cottage  roof,  had  gladly  come 
From  the  wild  sea  a  cherished  visitant.' 

The  brothers  had  rarely  met  since  their  school-boy  days ; 
and  it  was  a  great  delight  to  the  Poet,  to  find  in  his  sailor- 
brother,  when  he  came  to  sojourn  at  Grasmere,  a  heart 
congenial  to  his  own. 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  9. 

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CAPTAIN  WORDSWORTH.  281 

'  When  thou  hadst  quitted  EsthWaite's  pleasant  shore, 
And  taken  tl^  first  leave  of  thole  green  hills 
And  rocks  that  were  the  play-ground  of  thy  youth, 
Year  followed  year,  my  Brother !  and  we  two,* 
Conversing  not,  knew  little  in  what  mould 
Each  other's  mind  was  fashioned  \  and  at  lengt|^, 
When  once  again  we  met  in  Grasmere  Vale, 
Between  us  there  was  little  other  bond 
Than  common  feelings  of  fraternal  love. 
But  thou,  a  School-boy,  to  the  sea  hadst  carried 
Undying  recollections  ;  Nature  there 
Was  with  thee  *,  she  who  loved  us  both,  she  still 
Was  with  thee ;  and  even  so  didst  thou  become 
A  silent  Poet.' 

John  Wordsworth  left  Grasmere  on  Michaelmas  day, 
1800,  walking  over  by  Grisedale  Tarn  to  Patterdale, 
whence  he  would  proceed  to  Penrith;  he  took  leave  of 
his  brother  William,  near  the  Tarn,  where  UUswater  first 
comes  in  view ;  and  he  went  to  sea  again,  in  the  Aber- 
gavenny East-Indiaman,  in  the  spring  of  1801. 

After  his  departure  from  Grasmere,  the  Poet  discovered 
a  track  which  had  been  worn  by  his  brother^s  steps 
^  pacing  there  unwearied  and  alone,^  during  the  winter 
weather,  in  a  sheltering  fir-grove  above  the  cottage ,3  and 
henceforth  that  fir- grove  was  known  to  the*  Poet's  household 
by  the  name  of  '  John's  Grove,'  or  '  Brother's  Grove  : ' 

'And  now 
We  love  the  fir-grove  with  a  perfect  love.*  • 

Soon  after  John  Wordsworth  had  left  the  cottage  at 
Grasmere,  the  second  edition  of  the  '  Lyrical  Ballads ' 

» Vol.  ii.  p.  10. 

«  When  to  the  aUractums  of  the  busy  world,  1805.— ■'  The  grove 
still  exists,  but  the  plantation  has  been  walled  in,  and  is  not  so 
accessible  as  when  my  brother  John  wore  the  path  in  the  manner 
described.  The  grove  was  a  favourite  haunt  with  us  all  while  we 
lived  at  Town-End.'  —  MSS,  I.  F. 

•Vol    ii.p.  11.  Digitized  by  Google 


OIPTAIH  WOROSWOETX* 

appeared.  The  sailor  was  preparing  for  a  Toyage  to 
China ;  but  his  heart  was  often  at  Grasmere,  and  he  fek 
a  deep  interest  in  his  brother^s  works.  The  public  paid 
litde  attention  to  them;  and  those  Reviewers  who  did 
notice  them,  treated  them,  for  the  most  part,  with  scorn. 
But  the  sailor  was  a  better  judge  than  the  critics ;  and  he 
delivered  with  prophetic  discernment  a  clear-sighted  pre- 
diction concerning  them,  which  time  has  verified. 

^  I  do  not  think,^  he  writes  to  a  friend,  early  in  1801, 
*  that  William's  poetry  will  become  popular  for  some  time 
to  come :  it  does  not  suit  the  present  taste.  I  was  in  com- 
pany the  other  evening  with  a  gentleman,  who  had  read 
the  ♦'  Cumberland  Beggar."  "  Why,"  says  he,  "  this  is 
very  pretty ;  but  you  may  call  it  any  thing  hut  poetry.'*'* 
The  truth  is,  few  people  read  poetry ;  they  buy  it  for  the 
name,  read  about  twenty  lines  —  the  language  is  very  fine, 
and  they  are  content  with  praising  the  whole.  Most  of 
William's  poetry  improves  upon  the  second^  thirds  or 
fourth  reading.  Now,  people  in  general  are  not  suffi* 
ciently  interested  to  try  a  second  reading.' 

In  another  letter  he  thus  expresses  himself:  ^  The 
poems  foill  become  popular  in  time^  but  it  will  be  ly 
degrees.  The  fact  is,  there  are  not  a  great  many  persons 
that  will  be  pleased  with  them  at  first,  but  those  that  are 
pleased  with  them  will  be  pleased  in  a  high  degree^  and 
they  will  he  people  of  sense :  and  this  will  have  weight,  and 
then  people  who  neither  understand,  nor  wish  to  under- 
stand, them,  will  praise  them.' 

Again :  he  thus  speaks :  '  My  brother's  poetry  has  a 
great  deal  to  struggle  against ;  but  I  hope  it  will  overcome 
all :  it  is  cen^AvXy  founded  upon  Nature ^  and  that  is  the 
hest  foundation,^  ^ 

'  Mr.  Wordsworth's  own  remark,  inserted  in  one  of  his  Prefaces 
(vol.  V.  p.  223),  ought  not  to  be  forgotten  here  : 

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eAPTAIN  WORDSWORTH.  9St 

Writing  to  his  sister  from  Portsmouth,  on  hoard  the 
Abergavenny,  he  says,  April  22,  1801 :  '  We  have  the 
finest  ship  in  the  fleet :  nobody  can  tell  her  from  a  74-gun 
ship.     The  Bengal  fleet  have  sailed  with  a  fine  breeze. 

.  .  .  I  thank  you  for  the  Poems  which  you  have 
copied  for  me.  I  always  liked  the  preface  to  "Peter 
Bell,"  and  would  be  obliged  to  you,  if  you  could  send  it 
to  me.  .  .  .  4  As  for  the  "  Lyrical  Ballads,"  I  do  not 
give  myself  the  smallest  concern  about  them.  ...  I 
am  certain  they  must  sell.  I  shall  write  to  you  again 
before  we  sail.* 

It  is  interesting  and  instructive  to  contrast  such  language 
as  this,  proceeding  from  the  pen  of  an  East  India  captain, 
who  had  been  sent  to  sea  when  a  boy,  with  the  verdicts 
pronounced  on  the  same  subject  at  the  same  time  by  lite- 
rary censors  of  high  reputation,  by  whom  the  public  con- 
sented to  be  guided,  and  who,  for  the  most  part,  derided 
the  '  Lyrical  Ballads '  as  idle  puerilities,  and  treated  their 
author  with  disdain,  and  his  readers  with  pity. 

From  this  striking  example  the  reflecting  reader  will 
learn  to  distrust  contemporary  opinions,  and  to  take  coun- 
sel with  himself  and  with  Nature  ;  and  he  will  feel  satis- 

'  If  there  be  one  conclusion  more  forcibly  pressed  upon  us  than 
another  by  the  review  which  has  been  given  of  the  fortunes  and 
fate  of  poetical  Works,  it 'is  this,  —  that  every  author,  as  far  as  he 
is  great;  and  at  the  same  time  originalf  has  had  the  task  of  creating 
the  taste  by  which  he  is  to  be  enjoyed :  so  has  it  been,  so  will  it 
continue  to  be.  This  remark  was  long  since  made  to  me  by  the 
philosophical  friend,  for  the  separation  of  whose  poems  from  my 
own  I  have  previously  expressed  my  regret.  The  predecessors  of 
an  original  genius  of  a  high  order  will  have  smoothed  the  way 
for  all  that  he  has  in  common  with  them ;  —  and  much  he  will 
have  in  common ;  bat,  for  what  is  peculiarly  his  own,  he  will  be 
called  upon  to  clear  and  often  to  shape  his  own  road :  —  he  will  be 
in  the  condition  of  Hannibal  among  the  Alps.' 

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S84  CAPTAIlf    VrOBPSWOBTH. 

fiedt  that  if  his  judgments  are  based  upon  the  enduring 
foundation  of  natural  laws,  then,  although  they  may  not  be 
in  unison  with  conventional  usages  and  contemporary  Ian* 
guage,  those  judgments  will  ultimately  prevail,  and  be 
sanctioned  by  the  verdict  of  posterity.  Trained  in  such 
discipline  as  this,  the  intellect  may  escape  the  danger  of  a 
servile  subjection  to  popular  fallacies  and  fashionable  idol- 
atries, and  noay  live  and  breathe  with  satisfaction,  in  the 
air  of  liberty  and  truth. 

In  the  Poem  on  the  *  Fir-Grove,'  Wordsworth  expresses 
a  hope  that  the  day  would  come  when  his  brother  would 
return  to  the  Yale  of  Grasmere,  and  to  the  quiet  cottage, 

'  When  we,  and  others  whom  we  love,  shall  meet 
A  second  time  in  Grasmere's  happy  Vale.' 

It  was  Captain  Wordsworth's  intention  to  settle  eventu- 
ally at  Grasmere,  and  to  devote  the  surplus  of  his  fortune 
(for  he  was  not  married)  to  his  brother's  use ;  so  as  to  set 
his  mind  entirely  at  rest,  that  he  might  be  able  to  pursue 
his  poetical  labours  with  undivided  attention.^ 

*  The  following  lines  in  that  affecting  Foem  '  The  Brothers ' 
(vol.  i.  p.  189),  receive  additional  interest,  when  read  with  refer- 
ence to  the  Poet*s  own  history  and  that  of  his  brother. 

'  And  Leonard,  chiefly  for  his  Brother's  sake, 
Resolved  to  try  his  fortune  on  the  seas. 

Poor  Leonard !  when  we  parted, 
He  took  rae  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  me, 
If  e'er  he  should  grow  rich,  he  would  retutn. 
To  live  in  peace  upon  his  father's  land, 
And  lay  his  bones  among  us  J 

The  following  verses  also,  descriptive  of  Leonard's  character, 
appear  to  have  been  suggested  by  his  brother's  poetical  temper- 
ament. 


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CAPTAIN  WORDSWORTH.  MS 

Captain  Wordsworth  returned  from  the  voyage  on  which 
he  sailed  in  1801 ;  and  in  Nov.,  1802,  he  writes  for  direc- 
tions what  books  to  buy  to  carry  with  him  on  a  voyage  of  six- 


'  He  had  been  reared 
Among  the  mountains,  and  he  in  his  heart 
Was  half  a  shepherd  on  the  stormy  seas. 
Oft  in  the  piping  shrouds  had  Leonard  heard 
The  tones  of  waterfalls,  and  inland  sounds 
Of  caves  and  trees :  —  and,  when  the  regular  wind 
Between  the  tropics  filled  the  steady  sail, 
And  blew  with  the  same  breath  through  days  and  weeks, 
Lengthening  invisibly  its  weary  line 
Along  the  cloudless  Main,  he,  in  those  hours 
Of  tiresome  indolence,  would  often  hang 
Over  the  vessel's  side,  and  gaze  and  gaze ; 
And,  while  the  broad  blue  wave  and  sparkling  foam 
Flashed  round  him  images  and  hues  that  wrought 
In  union  with  the  employment  of  his  heart. 
He,  thus  by  feverish  passion  overcome. 
Even  with  the  organs  of  his  bodily  eye. 
Below  him,  in  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 
Saw  mountains ;  saw  the  forms  of  sheep  that  grazed 
On  verdant  hills  —  with  dwellings  among  trees, 
And  shepherds  clad  in  the  same  country  grey 
Which  he  himself  had  worn. 

'  And  now,  at  last. 
From  perils  manifold,  with  some  small  wealth 
Acquired  by  traffic  'mid  the  Indian  Isles, 
To  his  paternal  home  he  is  returned. 
With  a  determined  purpose  to  resume 
The  life  he  had  lived  there ;  both  for  the  sake 
Of  many  darling  pleasures,  and  the  love 
Which  to  an  ofdy  brother  he  has  borne 
In  all  his  hardships,  since  that  happy  time 
When,  whether  it  blew  foul  or  fair,  they  two 
Were  brother-shepherds  on  their  native  hills.' 


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OAPTAIM  WOKDSWOHTH. 

teen  months.^  He  had  taken  Anderson^s  Poeti  on  the  last 
voyage,  and  gave  them  now  to  his  brother.  And  on  this 
vojrage  he  sailed  in  the  spring  of  1803,  and  from  this  also 
he  returned.  The  brothers  met  in  London  ;  but  the  inter* 
vals  were  bo  brief  between  the  voyages  that  he  was 
unable  to  visit  Grasmere.  At  the  close  of  1804  he  was 
appointed  to  the  command  of  the  Abergavenny  East- 
Indiaman,  1500  tons  burden,  bound  for  India  and  China. 

He  set  sail  from  Portsmouth  at  the  beginning  of  Febru- 
ary, with  the  fairest  prospect  of  a  prosperous  and  profitable 
voyage.  The  vessel  carried  70,000Z.  in  specie,  and  the 
cargo  was  estimated  at  200,0002.  There  were  402  persons 
on  board.     Every  thing  seemed  to  promise  a  realization  of 

^  <  Tell  John/  says  Wordsworth^  '  when  he  buys  Spenser,  to 
purchase  an  edition  which  has  his  ''State  of  Ireland''  in  it.* 
This  is  in  prose.  This  edition  may  be  scarce,  but  one  surely  can 
be  found. 

*  Milton's  Sonnets  (transcribe  all  this  for  John,  as  said  by  me  to 
him),  I  think  manly  and  dignified  compositions,  distinguished  by 
simplicity  and  unity  of  object  and  aim,  and  undisfigured  by  false 
or  vicious  ornaments.  They  are  in  several  places  incorrect,  and 
sometimes  uncouth  in  language,  and,  perbaps,  in  some,  inhar- 
monious ;  yet,  upon  the  whole,  I  think  the  music  exceedingly  well 
suited  to  its  end,  that  is,  it  has  an  energetic  and  varied  flow  of 
sound  crowding  into  narrow  room  more  of  the  combined  effect  of 
rhyme  and  blank  verse  than  can  be  done  by  any  other  kind  of 
verse  I  know  of.  The  Sonnets  of  Milton  which  I  like  best  are 
that  to  Cyriack  Skinner;  on  his  Blindness;  Captain  or  Colonel; 
Massacre  of  Piedmont;  Cromwell,  except  two  last  lines;  Fair- 
fax,^ &c. 

*  [If  this  reference  should  chance  to  lead  any  reader  to  look  for 
this  seldom-thought-of  prose  work  of  Spenser's  —  the  Ttew  of  the 
State  of  Ireland,^  let  him  not  fail,  also,  to  read  some  very  impres- 
sive and  vigorous  strictures  on  it  by  Mrs.  Henry  N.  Coleridge  in 
her  introductory  'Sections'  to  her  Father's  *  Essays  on  his  own 
Titnes,^  particularly  in  Sect.  zi.  — h.  b.] 

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CAPTAIN   WOKSDWORTH.  88T 

his  hopes,  which  (as  will  appear  hereafter)  he  entertained 
for  his  brother^s  sake  more  than  for  himself.  But  all  these 
hopes  were  suddenly  blasted.  On  Tuesday^  February  5th, 
the  ship  struck  on  the  shambles  of  the  Bill  of  Portland,  the 
south  side  of  the  isle,  near  which  the  Halswell  East-India- 
man  had  been  wrecked  in  1786.  The  catastrophe  was 
owing  to  the  incompetency  of  the  pilot  who  had  been  taken 
on  board,  and  professed  to  know  the  coast,  but  had  not 
sufficient  knowledge  of  it.  Thei  sad  story  is  told  by  his 
brother  William,  in  his  letters  to  his  friend,  Sir  George 
Beaumont,  which  exhibit,  in  the  most  touching  manner, 
his  tender  aifection  for  his  brother,  and  give  a  vivid  picture 
of  his  character,  and  of  the  loss  sustained  by  his  death. 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart 

*  Grasmeref  Feb,  11,  1805. 
'  My  dear  Friend, 
'  The  public  papers  will  already  have  broken  the  shock 
which  the  sight  of  this  letter  will  give  you  :  you  will  have 
learned  by  them  the  loss  of  the  Earl  of  Abergavenny 
East-Indiaman,  and,  along  with  her,  of  a  great  proportion 
of  the  crew,  —  that  of  her  captain,  our  brother,  and  a  most 
beloved  brother  he  was.  This  calamitous  news  we  received 
at  2  o'clock  to-day,  and  I  write  to  you  from  a  house  of 
mourning.  My  poor  sister,  and  my  wife  who  loved  him 
almost  as  we  did  (for  he  was  one  of  the  most  amiable  of 
men),  are  in  miserable  affliction,  which- 1  do  all  in  my 
power  to  alleviate  ;  but  Heaven  knows  I  wcuit  consolation 
myself.  I  can  say  nothing  higher  of  my  ever-dear  brother, 
than  that  he  was  worthy  of  his  sister,  who  is  now  weeping 
beside  me,  and  of  the  friendship  of  Coleridge;  meek, 
affectionate,  silently  enthusiastic,  loving  all  quiet  things, 
and  a  poet  in  every  thing  but  words. 

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288  CAPTAIN   WOKDSWORTH. 

*'  Alas  1  what  is  human  life !  This  present  moment,  I 
thought,  this  morning,  would  have  been  devoted  to  the 
pleasing  employment  of  writing  a  letter  to  amuse  you  in 
your  confinement.  I  had  singled  out  several  little  frag- 
ments (descriptions  merely),  which  I  purposed  to  have 
transcribed  from  my  poems,  thinking  that  the  perusal  of 
them  might  give  you  a  few  minutes^  gratification ;  and 
now  I  am  called  to  this  melancholy  office. 

*  I  shall  never  forget  your  goodness  in  writing  so  long 
and  interesting  a  letter  to  me  under  such  circumstances. 
This  letter  also  arrived  by  the  same  post  which  brought 
the  unhappy  tidings  of  my  brother^s  death,  so  that  they 
were  both  put  into  my  hands  at  the  same  moment 

'  Your  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  Wordsworth. 

*  I  shall  do  all  in  my  power  to  sustain  my  sister  under 
her  sorrow,  which  is,  and  long  will  be,  bitter  and  poignant. 
We  did  not  love  him  as  a  brother  merely,  but  as  a  man  of 
original  mind,  and  an  honour  to  all  about  him.  Oh  !  deeur 
friend,  forgive  me  for  talking  thus.  We  have  had  no 
tidings  of  Coleridge.  I  tremble  for  the  moment  when  he 
is  to  hear  of  my  brother's  death  ;  it  will  distress  him  to  the 
heart,  —  and  his  poor  body  cannot  bear  sorrow.  He  loved 
my  brother,  and  he  knows  how  we  at  Grasmere  loved 
him.' 

Nine  days  afterwards,  he  resumed  the  subject  as  fol- 
lows : 

^Chasmere,  Fdf.  20,  1805. 

'  Having  spoken  of  worldly  affairs,  let  me  again  mention 
my  beloved  brother.  It  is  now  just  five  years  since,  after 
a  separation  of  fourteen  years  (I  may  call  it  a  separation, 
for  we  only  saw  him  four  or  five  times,  and  by  glimpses), 

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CAPTAIN   WORDSWOBTH.  869 

he  came  to  visit  his  sister  and  me  in  this  cottage,  and 
passed  eight  blessed  months  with  us.  He  was  then  wait- 
ing for  the  command  of  the  ship  to  which  he  was  appointed 
when  he  quitted  us.  As  you  will  have  seen,  we  had  little 
to  live  upon,  and  he  as  little  (Lord  Lonsdale  being  then 
alive).  But  he  encouraged  me  to  persist,  and  to  keep  my 
eye  steady  on  its  object.  He  would  work  for  me  (that  was 
his  language),  for  me  and  his  sister;  and  I  was  to  endeavour 
to  do  something  for  the  world.  He  went  to  sea,  as  com- 
mander, with  this  hope  ;  his  voyage  was  very  unsuccessful, 
he  having  lost  by  it  considerably.  When  he  came  home, 
we  chanced  to  be  in  London,  and  saw  him.  "  Oh  ! "  said 
he,  "  1  have  thought  of  you,  and  nothing  but  you  ;  if  ever 
of  myself,  and  my  bad  success,  it  was  only  on  your  ac« 
count."  He  went  again  to  sea  a  second  time,  and  also 
was  unsuccessful ;  still  with  the  same  hopes  on  our  ac- 
count, though  then  not  so  necessary.  Lord  Lowther  having 
paid  the  money. ^  Lastly  came  the  lamentable  voyage, 
which  he  entered  upon,  full  of  expectation,  and  love  to  his 
sister  and  myself,  and  my  wife,  whom,  indeed,  he  loved 
with  all  a  brother's  tenderness.  This  is  the  end  of  his 
part  of  the  agreement  —  of  his  efforts  for  my  welfare ! 
God  grant  me  life  and  strength  to  fulfil  mine!  I  shall 
never  forget  him,  —  never  lose  sight  of  him :  there  is  a 
bond  between  us  yet,  the  same  as  if  he  were  living,  nay, 
far  more  sacred,  calling  upon  me  to  do  my  utmost,  as  he 
to  the  last  did  his  utmost  to  live  in  honour  and  worthiness. 
Some  of  the  newspapers  carelessly  asserted  that  he  did  not 
wish  to  survive  his  ship.  This  is  false.  He  was  heard  by 
one  of  the  surviving  officers  giving  orders,  with  all  possible 

*  Due  to  Mr.  Wordsworth^s  father  from  James,  Earl  of  Lons- 
dale,  at  whose  death,  ia  1802,  it  was  paid  by  his  Lordship's  suc- 
cessor, find  divided  among  the  five  children. 

VOL.  I.  19 

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S!90  CAPTAIN  WORUSWORTH, 

calmness,  a  very  little  before  the  ship  went  down ;  and 
when  he  could  remain  at  his  post  no  longer,  then,  and  not 
till  then,  he  attempted  to  save  himself.  1  knew  this  would 
be  so,  but  it  was  satisfactory  for  me  tp  have  it  confirmed 
by  external  evidence.  Do  not  think  our  grief  unreasona- 
ble. Of  all  human  beings  whom  I  ever  knew,  he  was  the 
num  of  the  most  rational  desires,  the  most  sedate  habits, 
and  the  most  perfect  self-command.  He  was  modest  and 
gentle,  and  shy  even  to  disease ;  but  this  was  wearing  off. 
In  everything  his  judgments  were  sound  and  original ;  his 
taste  in  all  the  arts,  music  and  poetry  in  particular  (for 
these  he,  of  course,  had  had  the  best  opportunities  of  being 
familiar  with),  was  exquisite  ;  and  his  eye  for  the  beauties 
of  nature  was  as  fine  and  delicate  as  ever  poet  or  painter 
was  gifled  with,  in  some  discriminations,  owing  to  his 
education  and  way  of  life,  far  superior  to  any  person^s  I 
ever  knew.  But,  alas !  what  avails  it  ?  It  was  the  will  of 
God  that  he  should  be  taken  away. 

I  trust  in  God  that  I  shall  not  want  fortitude  ;  but  my  loss 
is  great  and  irreparable. 

*  Many  thanks  for  the  offer  of  your  house ;  but  I  am 
not  likely  to  be  called  to  town.  Lady  Beaumont  gives  us 
hope  we  may  see  you  next  summer :  this  would,  indeed, 
be  great  joy  to  us  all.  My  sister  thanks  Lady  B.  for  her 
affectionate  remembrance  of  her  and  her  letter,  and  will 
write  as  soon  as  ever  she  feels  herself  able.  Her  health, 
as  was  to  be  expected,  has  suffered  much. 

*  Your  most  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  Wordsworth.* 

Again  Mr.  Wordsworth  writes  : 

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CAPTAIN   WOBMWOBTH.  291 

*  Grasmere,  March  12,  1805. 
'  As  I  have  said,  your  last  letter  affected  me  much.  A 
thousand  times  have  I  asked  myself,  as  your  tender  sym- 
pathy led  me  to  do,  "  why  was  he  taken  away  ?  "  and  I 
have  answered  the  question  as  you  have  done.  In  fact, 
there  is  no  other  answer  which  can  satisfy  and  lay  the 
mind  at  rest.  Why  have  we  a  choice,  and  a  will,  and  a 
notion  of  justice  and  injustice,  enahling  us  to  be  moral 
agents^?  Why  have  we  sympathies  that  make  the  best  of 
us  so  afraid  gf  inflicting  pain  and  sorrow,  which  yet  we 
see  dealt  about  so  lavishly  by  the  supreme  Governor? 
Why  should  our  notions  of  right  towards  each  other,  and 
to  all  sentient  beings  within  our  influence,  differ  so  widely 
from  what  appears  to  be  His  notion  and  rule,  if  every 
thing  were  to  end  here  7  Would  it  not  be  blasphemy  to 
say  that,  upon  the  supposition  of  the  thinking  principle 
being  destroyed  by  deaths  however  inferior  we  may  be  to 
the  great  Cause  and  Ruler  of  things,  we  have  more  of  love 
in  our  nature  than  He  has  ?  The  thought  is  monstrous ; 
and  yet  how  to  get  rid  of  it,  except  upon  the  supposition 
of  another  and  a  better  worlds  I  do  not  see.  As  to  my 
departed  brother,  who  leads  our  minds  at  present  to  these 
reflections,  he  walked  all  his  life  pure  among  many  im- 
pure. Except  a  little  hastiness  of  temper,  when  anything 
was  done  in  a  clumsy  or  bungling  manner,  or  when 
improperly  contradicted  upon  occasions  of  not  much  im- 
portance, he  had  not  one  vice  of  his  profession.  I  never 
heard  an  oath,  or  even  an  indelicate  expression  or  allusion, 
from  him  in  my  life ;  his  modesty  was  equal  to  that  of  the 
purest  woman.  In  prudence,  in  meekness,  in  self-denial, 
in  fortitude,  in  just  desires  and  elegant  and  refined  enjoy- 
ments, with  an  entire  simplicity  of  manners,  life,  and 
habit,  he  was  all  that  could  be  wished  for  in  man ;  strong 
in  health,  and  of  a  noble  person,  with  every  hope  about 


S92  CAPTAIN  WOBDSWOBTH. 

him  that  could  render  life  dear,  thinking  of,  and  living 
only  for,  others,  —  and  we  see  what  has  heen  his  end! 
So  good  must  he  hotter ;  so  high  must  be  destined  to  be 
higher. 

•        "     •  •  •  •  • 

*  I  will  take  this  opportunity  of  saying,  that  the  news* 
paper  accounts  of  the  loss  of  the  ship  are  throughout 
grossly  inaccurate.  The  chief  facts  I  will  state,  in  a  few 
words,  from  the  deposition  at  the  India  House  of  one  of 
the  surviving  officers.  She  struck  at  5,  p.  h.  Guns  were 
&ed  immediately,  and  were  continued  to  be  fired.  She 
was  gotten  off  the  rock  at  half-past  seven,  but  had  taken 
in  so  much  water,  in  spite  of  constant  pumping  as  to  be 
water-logged.  They  had,  however,  hope  that  she  might 
still  be  run  upon  Weymouth  Sands,  and  with  this  view 
continued  pumping  and  baling  till  eleven,  when  she  went 
down.  The  long-boat  could  not  be  hoisted  out,  as,  had 
that  been  done,  there  would  have  been  no  possibility  c^ 
the  ship  being  run  aground.  I  have  mentioned  these 
things,  because  the  newspaper  accounts  were  such  as 
tended  to  throw  discredit  on  my  brother's  conduct  and 
personal  firmness,  stating  that  the  ship  had  struck  an  hour 
and  a  half  before  guns  were  fired,  and  that,  in  the  agony 
of  the  moment,  the  boats  had  been  forgotten  to  be  hoisted 
out.  We  knew  well  this  could  not  be  ;  but,  for  the  sake  of 
the  relatives  of  the  persons  lost,  it  distressed  us  much  that 
it  should  have  been  said.  A  few  minutes  before  the  ship 
went  down,  my  brother  was  seen  talking  with  the  first 
mate,  with  apparent  cheerfulness  ;  and  he  was  standing  oa 
the  hen-coop,  which  is  the  point  from  which  he  could  over- 
lodk  the  whole  ship,  the  moment  she  went  down,  dying, 
as  he  had  lived,  in  the  very  place  and  point  where  his 
duty  stationed  him.  I  must  beg  your  pardcm  for  detaining 
you  so  long  on  this  melancholy  subject ;  and  yet  it  is  not 


CAPTAIN   WOBDSWORTH.  293 

altogether  melancholy,  for  what  nobler  spectacle  can  be 
contemplated  than  that  of  a  virtuous  man,  with  a  serene 
countenance,  in  such  an  overwhelming  situation  ?  I  will 
here  transcribe  a  passage  which  I  met  with  the  other  day 
in  a  review ;  it  is  from  Aristotle's  "  Synopsis  of  the  Virtues 
and  Vices."  ^  **  It  is,"  says  he,  "  the  property  of  fortitude 
not  to  be  easily  terrified  by  the  dread  of  things  pertaining 
to  death  ;  to  possess  good  confidence  in  things  terrible,  and 
presence  of  mind  in  dangers  ;  rather  to  prefer  to  be  put  to 
death  worthily,  than  to  be  preserved  basely ;  and  to  be  the 
cause  of  victory.  Moreover,  it  is  the  property  of  fortitude 
to  labour  and  endure,  and  to  make  valorous  exertion  an 
object  of  choice.  Further,  presence  of  mind,  a  well-dis- 
posed soul,  confidence  and  boldness  are  the  attendants  on 
fortitude;  and,  besides  these,  industry  and  patience." 
Except  in  the  circumstance  of  making  valorous  exertion 
an  "  object  of  choice  "  (if  the  philosopher  alludes  to  gen- 
eral habits  of  character),  my  brother  might  have  sat  for 
this  picture ;  but  he  was  of  a  meek  and  retired  nature, 
loving  all  quiet  things. 

*  I  remain,  dear  Sir  George, 

*  Your  most  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  WoBDSWORTH.' 

The  following,  to  his  friend  Southey,  was  written  the 
morrow  after  the  arrival  of  the  sad  tidings : 

'  Tuesday  Eteningf  Grasmertf  1805. 

*  We  see  nothing  here  that  does  not  remind  us  of  our 
dear  brother;  there  is  nothing  about  us  (save  the  children, 
whom  he  had  not  seen)  that  he  has  not  known  and  loved. 

*  If  you  could  bear  to  come  to  this  house  of  mourning 

>  Vol.  ii.  p.  385,  ed.  Bekker.  Oxon.  1837. 

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S94  CAPTAIN   WOBDSWOBTB. 

to-morrow,  I  should  be  for  ever  thankful.  We  weep 
much  to-day,  and  that  relieves  us.  As  to  fortitude,  I  hope 
I  shall  show  that,  and  that  all  of  us  will  show  it  in  a  proper 
time,  in  keeping  down  many  a  silent  pang  hereaAer.  Bat 
grief  will,  as  you  say,  and  must,  have  its  course ;  there  is 
no  wisdom  in  attempting  to  check  it  under  the  circum- 
stances which  we  are  all  of  us  in  here. 

*  I  condole  with  you,  from  my  soul,  on  the  melancholy 
account  of  your  own  brother's  situation ;  Grod  grant  you 
may  not  hear  such  tidings !  Oh !  it  makes  the  heart  groan, 
that,  with  such  a  beautiful  world  as  this  to  live  in,  and  such 
a  soul  as  that  of  man's  is  by  nature  and  gifl  of  God,  that  we 
should  go  about  on  such  errands  as  we  do,  destroying  and 
laying  waste ;  and  ninety-nine  of  us  in  a  hundred  never 
easy  in  any  road  that  travels  towards  peace  and  quietness. 
And  yet,  what  virtue  and  what  goodness,  what  heroism 
and  courage,  what  triumphs  of  disinterested  love  every- 
where, and  human  life,  after  all,  what  it  is  !  Surely,  this 
is  not  to  be  for  ever,  even  on  this  perishable  planet !  Come 
to  us  to-morrow,  if  you  can ;  your  conversation,  I  know, 
will  do  me  good. 

*  All  send  best  remembrances  to  you  all. 

*  Your  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  WoRDSWOETH.' 

The  following,  to  another  friend,  may  complete  the  sad 
tale: 

'Grasmere,  March  16,  1805. 

*  He  wrote  to  us  from  Portsmouth,  about  twelve  days 
before  this  disaster,  full  of  hopes,  saying  that  he  was  to 
sail  to-morrow.  Of  course,  at  the  time  when  we  heard 
this  deplorable  news,  we  imagined  that  he  was  as  far  on 
his  voyage  as  Madeira.     It  was,  indeed,  a  thunderstroke  to 

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CAPTAIN   WOBDSWOETH.  205 

US  ]  The  language  which  he  held  was  always  so  encour- 
aging, saying  that  ships  were,  in  nine  instances  out  of  ten, 
lost  by  mismanagement :  he  had,  indeed,  a  great  fear  of 
pilots,  and  I  have  often  heard  him  say,  that  no  situation 
could  be  imagined  more  distressing  than  that  of  being  at 
the  mercy  of  these  men.  "  Oh  I "  said  he,  "  it  is  a  joyful 
hour  for  us  when  we  get  rid  of  them."  His  fears,  alas  I 
were  too  well  founded  ;  his  own  ship  was  lost  while  under 
the  management  of  the  pilot,  whether  mismanaged  by 
him  or  not,  I  do  not  know ;  but  know  for  certain,  which  is, 
indeed,  our  great  consolation,  that  our  dear  brother  did  all 
that  man  could  do,  even  to  the  sacrifice  of  his  own  life. 
The  newspaper  accounts  were  grossly  inaccurate ;  indeed, 
that  must  have  been  obvious  to  any  person  who  could  bear 
to  think  upon  the  subject,  for  they  were  absolutely  Unin- 
telligible. There  are  two  pamphlets  upon  the  subject; 
one  a  mere  transcript  from  the  papers ;  the  other  may  be 
considered,  as  to  all  important  particulars,  as  of  authority ; 
it  is  by  a  person  high  in  the  India  House,  and  contains  the 
deposition  of  the  surviving  officers  concerning  the  loss  of 
the  ship.  The  pamphlet,  I  am  told,  is  most  unfeelingly 
written :  I  have  only  seen  an  extract  from  it,  containing 
Gilpin^s  deposition,  the  fourth  mate.  From  this,  it  ap- 
pears that  everything  was  done  that  could  be  done,  under 
the  circumstances,  for  the  safety  of  the  lives  and  the  ship. 
My  poor  brother  was  standing  on  the  hen-coop  (which  is 
placed  upon  the  poop,  and  is  the  most  commanding  situa- 
tion  in  the  vessel)  when  she  went  down,  and  he  was  thence 
washed  overboard  by  a  large  sea,  which  sank  the  ship. 
He  was  seen  struggling  with  the  waves  some  time  after- 
wards, having  laid  hold,  it  is  said,  of  a  rope.  He  was  an 
excellent  swimmer ;  but  what  could  it  avail  in  such  a  sea, 
encumbered  with  his  clothes,  and  exhausted  in  body,  as  he 
must  have  been  I 

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206  CAPTAIN    WOBBSWORTH. 

*  For  myself,  I  feel  that  there  is  something  cut  out  of  my 
life  which  cannot  be  restored.  I  never  thought  of  him 
but  with  hope  and  delight :  we  looked  forward  to  the  time, 
not  distant,  as  we  thought,  when  he  would  settle  near  us, 
when  the  task  of  his  life  would  be  over,  and  he  would 
have  nothing  to  do  but  reap  his  reward.  By  that  time,  I 
hoped  also  that  the  chief  part  of  my  labours  would  be 
executed,  and  that  I  should  be  able  to  show  him  that  he 
had  not  placed  a  false  confidence  in  me.  I  never  wrote  a 
line  without  a  thought  of  its  giving  him  pleasure :  my 
writings,  printed  and  manuscript,  were  his  delight,  and  one 
of  the  chief  solaces  of  his  long  voyages.  But  let  me 
stop :  I  will  not  be  cast  down ;  were  it  only  for  his  sake, 
I  will  not  be  dejected.  I  have  much  yet  to  do,  and  pray 
Grod  to  give  me  strength  and  power:  his  part  of  the 
agreement  between  us  is  brought  to  an  end,  mine  con- 
tinues ;  and  I  hope  when  I  shall  be  able  to  think  of  htin 
with  a  calmer  mind,  that  the  remembrance  of  him  dead 
will  even  animate  me  more  than  the  joy  which  I  had  in 
him  living.  I  wish  you  would  procure  the  pamphlet  I  have 
mentioned ;  you  may  know  the  right  one,  by  its  having  a 
motto  from  Shakspeare,  from  Clarence^s  dream.  I  wish 
you  to  see  it,  that  you  may  read  G.'s  statement,  and  be 
enabled,  if  the  affair  should  ever  be  mentioned  in  your 
heariil^,  to  correct  the  errors  which  they  must  have  fallen 
into  who  have  taken  their  ideas  from  the  newspaper 
aecounts.  I  have  dwelt  long,  too  long  I  fear,  upon  this 
subject,  but  I  could  not  write  to  you  upon  anything  efee, 
till  1  had  unburthened  my  heart.  We  have  great  consola- 
tions from  the  sources  you  allude  to ;  but,  alas,  we  have 
much  yet  to  endure.  Time  only  can  give  us  regular  tran- 
quillity. We  neither  murmur  nor  repine,  but  sorrow  we 
must;  we  should  be  senseless  else.^ 

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CAFTAIN   WORDSWOETH.  297 

Such  an  event  as  that  which  has  now  heen  descrihed, 
and  which  so  powerfully  moved  the  Poet's  heart,  could  not 
but  stir  the  strings  of  his  lyre.  He  gave  vent  to  his  sor- 
row in  three  poems. 

The  first  is  entitled  *  Elegiac  Stanzas,  suggested  by  a 
picture  of  Peele  Castle  in  a  storm ;  painted  by  Sir  George 
Beaumont : '  ^ 

'  I  was  thy  neighbour  once,  thou  rugged  pile  ! ' 

He  had  spent  four  weeks  there  of  a  college  summer  vaca- 
tion, at  the  house  of  his  cousin,  Mrs.  Barker.  He  had 
then  seen  the  sea  in  a  constant  unruffled  calm  ;  and  of  the 
castle  he  says, 

*  Thy  form  was  sleeping  on  a  glassy  sea.' 

But  now^  since  his  brother's  death  in  the  storm,  the  sea 
wears  to  him  a  new  aspect :  the  sight  of  the  castle  in  the 
storm^  and  of  a  vessel  near  it  tossed  by  wind  and  wave,  is 
congenial  to  his  present  feelings. 

'Well  chosen  is  the  spirit  that  is  here, 
That  hulk  which  labours  in  the  deadly  swell, 
This  rueful  sky,  this  pageantry  of  fear ! ' 

The  next  poem  is  of  a  different  cast, '  To  the  Daisy.'  ^ 

*  Sweet  flower !  belike  one  day  to  have 
A  place  upon  thy  Poet's  grave, 
I  welcome  thee  once  more.* 

The  flowef  suggests  the  remembrance  of  his  brother's 
love  of  '  all  quiet  things.'  His  brother's  hopes  —  the  ship 
—  the  probable  results  of  the  voyage  in  restoring  him  to 
his  beloved  vale  and  friends,  are  described.  Next  follows 
the  shock  of  the  vessel  striking  on  the  reef,  its  struggle 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  186,  «  Vol.  ii.  p.  129. 

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298  OiPTAIK   WOHD8WOKTB. 

with  the  storm  in  the  dark  night,  its  foundering  in  the 
deep,  then  the  death  of  the  captain. 

'  Six  weeks  beneath  the  moying  sea, 
He  lay  in  slumber  quietly : ' 

then  his  body  was  found  at  the  ship's  side,  and  carried  to 
a  country  churchyard,  that  of  Wythe,  a  village  near  Wey- 
mouth, and  there  buried  in  peace. 

'  And  thou,  sweet  flower,  shalt  sleep  and  wake 
Upon  his  senseless  grave.' 

The  third  poem  is  entided  *  Elegiac  Verses,'  and 
refers  to  the  scene  of  the  farewell  of  the  Poet  and  his 
brother,  mentioned  above  (p.  281,)  on  the  mountain 
track  from  Grasmere  to  Paterdale,  through  Grisedale ; 
and  describes  the  appearance  of  a  beautiful  cluster  of 
purple  flowers,  unseen  and  unknown  before  —  the  Moss 
Campion,  which  presented  itself  to  the  Poet's  eye  when 
he  revisited  the  parting  place,  and  cheered  him  with  its 
bright  colours. 

<  This  plant 
Is  in  its  beauty  ministrant 
To  comfort  and  to  peace.'  * 

These  references  may  be  closed  by  an  allusion  to  the 
poem,  *  The  Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior,'  ^  written 
in  1806. 

Some  of  the  features  of  that  noble  picture  were  drawn 
from  the  Poet's  brother,  Captain  Wordsworth.  To  borrow 
the  author's  words,  speaking  of  this  poem  :  ^ 

*  Who  is  the  Happy  Warrior  ? '  — '  The  course  of  the 
great  war  with  the  French  naturally  fixed  one's  attention 
upon  the  military  character;  and,  to  the  honour  of  our 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  131  - 133.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  212.  »  MSS.  I.  F. 

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CAPTAIN   WORDSWORTH.  899 

country,  tliere  were  many  illustrious  instances  of  the 
qualities  that  constitute  its  highest  excellence.  Lord 
Nelson  owned  most  of  the  virtues  that  the  trials  he  was 
exposed  to  in  his  department  of  the  service  necessarily 
call  forth  and  sustain,  if  they  do  not  produce  the  con- 
trary vices.  But  his  public  life  was  stained  with  one 
great  crime,  so  that,  though  many  passages  of  these  lines 
were  suggested  by  what  was  generally  known  as  excel- 
lent in  his  conduct,  I  have  not  been  able  to  connect  his 
name  with  the  poem  as  I  could  wish,  or  even  to  think 
of  him  with  satisfaction  in  reference  to  the  idea  of  what  a 
warrior  should  be. 

*  Let  me  add,  that  many  elements  of  the  character  here 
portrayed  were  found  in  my  brother  John,  who  perished 
by  shipwreck,  as  mentioned  elsewhere.  His  messmates 
used  to  call  him  the  Philosopher^  from  which  it  may  be 
inferred  that  the  qualities  and  dispositions  I  allude  to  had 
not  escaped  their  notice.  He  greatly  valued  moral  and 
religious  instruction  for  youth,  as  tending  to  make  good 
sailors.  The  best,  he  used  to  say,  came  from  Scotland  ; 
the  next  to  them  from  the  north  of  England,  especially 
from  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland,  where,  thanks  to 
the  piety  emd  local  attachments  of  our  ancestors,  endowed^ 
or,  as  they  are  called,  free  schools  abound.^ 

Such  was  Captain  Wordsworth,  taken  away  suddenly 
in  the  prime  of  life,  a  person  whose  name  deserves  to 
occupy  a  prominent  place  jn  his  brother's  history,  and 
whose  character  and  conduct  may  suggest  many  interest- 
ing and  profitable  reflections,  especially  to  those  who  have 
chosen  the  naval  profession  as  their  career  in  life. 

[It  is  with  hesitation  that  I  add  anything  to  a  record  of  sach 
deep  sorrow  as  is  contained  in  this  chapter  j  but  I  venture  to  con- 
nect with  it  words  of  earnest  sympathy  from  two  of  Wordsworth's 

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300  CAPTAIN   WORDSWORTH. 

friends  —  first  an  extract  from  a  letter  of  Southey's,  and  second 
the  thoughtful  and  tender  letter  of  Mary  Lamb ;  her  allosioa  to 
the  absence  of  Coleridge  has  an  additional  interest  in  connectioa 
with  the  manner  in  which  Wordsworth's  own  heart,  in  its  hour  of 
affliction,  turned  to  his  absent  friend  —  as  expressed  above  in  his 
letter  to  Sir  George  Beaumont. 

Sou  they,  writing  to  his  friend  Mr.  Wynn,  says,  *  I  have  been 
grievously  shocked  this  evening  by  the  loss  of  the  Abergavenny, 
of  which  Wordsworth's  brother  was  captain.  Of  course  the  news 
came  flying  up  to  us  from  all  quarters,  and  it  has  disordered  me 
from  head  to  foot.  *  *  In  fact  I  am  writing  to  you  ^merely  be- 
cause this  dreadful  shipwreck  has  led  me  unable  to  do  anything 
else.  It  is  the  heaviest  calamity  Wordsworth  has  ever  experi- 
enced, and  in  all  probability  I  shall  have  to  communicate  it  to 
him,  as  he  will,  very  likely,  be  here  before  the  tidings  can  reach 
him.'  — Life  of  Southey,  Vol.  ii.  Chap.  ii.  p.  321. 

The  following  is  the  letter  from  Mary  Lamb  to  Wordsworth's 
sister,  (without  date) : 

*  My  dear  Miss  Wordsworth, 
'I  thank  you,  my  kind  friend,  for  your  most  comfortable  letter; 
till  I  saw  your  own  handwriting,  I  could  not  persuade  myself  that 
I  should  do  well  to  write  to  you,  though  I  have  often  attempted  it ; 
but  I  always  left  off,  dissatisfied  with  what  I  had  written,  and 
feeling  that  I  was  doing  an  improper  thing  to  intrude  upon  your 
sorrow.  I  wished  to  tell  you  that  you  would  one  day  feel  the  kind 
of  peaceful  state  of  mind  and  sweet  memory  of  the  dead,  which 
you  so  happily  describe,  as  now  almost  begun  j  but  I  felt  that  it 
was  improper,  and  most  grating  to  the  feelings  of  the  afflicted,  to 
say  to  them  that  the  memory  of  their  affection  would  in  time 
become  a  constant  part,  not  only  of  their  dream,  but  of  their  most 
wakeful  sense  of  happiness.  That  you  would  see  every  object  with, 
and  through  your  lost  brother,  and  that  that  would  at  last  become 
a  real  and  everlasting  source  of  comfort  to  you,  I  felt,  and  well 
knew,  from  my  own  experience  in  sorrow  j  but  till  you  yourself 
began  to  feel  this,  I  did  not  dare  to  tell  you  so  j  but  I  send  you  some 
poor  lines,  which  I  wrote  under  this  conviction  of  mind,  and  before 
I  heard  Coleridge  was  returning  home.  I  will  transcribe  them 
now,  before  I  finish  my  letter,  lest  a  false  shame  prevent  me  then, 
for  I  know  they  are  much  worse  than  they  ought  to  be,  written,  as 
they  were,  with  strong  feeling,  and  on  such  a  subject ;  every  line 

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CAPTAIN   WOKDSWOBTH.         ^  301 

seems  to  me  to  be  borrowed,  but  I  bad  no  better  way  of  expressing 
my  thoughts,  and  I  never  have  the  power  of  altering  or  amending 
anything  I  have  once  laid  aside  with  dissatislGeurtion. 

Why  is  he  wandering  on  the  sea  ?  — 

Coleridge  should  now  with  Wordsworth  be. 

By  slow  degrees  he  'd  steal  away 

Their  woe,  and  gently  bring  a  ray 

(So  happily  he  'd  time  relief,) 

Of  comfort  from  their  very  grief. 

He  'd  tell  them  that  their  brother  dead, 

When  years  have  passed  o'er  their  head. 

Will  be  remembered  with  such  holy, 

True,  and  perfect  melancholy, 

That  ever  this  lost  brother  John 

Will  be  their  heart's  companion; 

His  voice  they  '11  always  hear, 

His  face  they  '11  always  see ; 
There 's  naught  in  life  so  sweet 

As  such  a  memory.' 

Talfourd's  'Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb,'  near  the  end.  — 

H.K.] 


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CHAPTER  XXIII. 

CONTINUATION   OF   'THE   PRELUDE,   OR  GROWTH   OF 
A  FOETUS   MIND.' A 

In  the  month  of  June,  1805,  four  months  afler  his  bro- 
ther's death,  Wordsworth  brought  to  a  close  the  long  and 
elaborate  poem  on  which  he  had  been  engaged  at  inter- 
vals for  more  than  six  years.  *    This  was  *  The  Prelude, 

'  See  above,  Chapter  XV. 

■  Coleridge,  to  whom  *  The  Prelude '  is  addressed,  is  related  to 
have  expressed  himself  in  the  following  terms  on  this  subject. 
(Table  Talk,  London,  1835,  Vol.  ii.  p.  70.)  '  I  cannot  help  re- 
gretting that  Wordsworth  did  not  first  publish  his  thirteen  (four- 
teen) books  on  the  growth  of  an  individual  mind  —  superior,  as 
I  used  to  think,  upon  the  whole,  to  *  The  Excursion.'  You  may 
judge  how  I  felt  about  them  by  my  own  Poem  upon  the  occasion.* 
Then  the  plan  laid  out,  and,  I  believe,  partly  suggested  by  me, 
was,  that  Wordsworth  should  assume  the  station  of  a  man  in 
mental  repose,  one  whose  principles  were  made  up,  and  so  pre- 
pared to  deliver  upon  authority  a  system  of  philosophy.  He  was 
to  treat  man  as  man,  —  a  subject  of  eye,  ear,  touch,  and  taste,  in 
contact  with  external  nature,  and  informing  the  senses  from  the 
mind,  and  not  compounding  a  mind  out  of  the  senses ;  then  he 
was  to  describe  the  pastoral  and  other  states  of  society,  assuming 
something  of  the  Juvenalian  spirit  as  he  approached  the  high  civi- 
lization of  cities  and  towns,  and  opening  a  melancholy  picture  of 
the  present  state  of  degeneracy  and  vice ;  thence  he  was  to  infer 
and  reveal  the  proof  of,  and  necessity  for,  the  whole  state  of  man 
and  society  being  subject  to,  and  illustrative  of,  a  redemptive  pro- 

*  Poetical  Works,  vol.  i.  ^wS^Googie 


CONTINUATION   OP   '  THB   PKELUDE.'  808 

or  Growth  of  his  own  Mind,'  in  fourteen  hooks.  The 
sorrow  he  felt  at  his  brother's  loss  vents  itself  in  the  con- 
clusion of  the  poem.i     Alluding  to  that  calamity,  he  says, 

*  The  last  and  later  portions  of  this  gift 
Have  been  prepared — not  with  the  buoyant  spirits 
That  were  our  daily  portion,  when  we  first 
Together  wantoned  in  wild  Poesy* — 
But  under  pressure  of  a  private  grief 
Keen  and  enduring  .  .  .' 

The  earlier  parts  of  this  poem  (as  has  been  already 
stated),  were  poured  forth  in  a  joyful  effusion,  when  the 
Poet  issued  from  the  gates  of  the  imperial  city  of  Goslar, 

'  Where  he  long  had  pin€d, 
A  discontented  sojourner  j  now  free/ 

in  the  spring  of  1799/^  At  the  close  of  803  or  beginning 
of  1804  (the  letter  bears  no  date),  he  says,  from  Gras- 
mere,  to  his  friend  Wrangham, '  I  am  engaged  in  writing 
a  poem  on  my  own  earlier  Life.  Three  books  are  nearly 
finished.  My  other  meditated  works  are  a  philosophical 
poem,  and  a  narrative  one :  these  two  will  employ  me 
several  years.' 

He  was  engaged  on  the  sixth  book  of  '  The  Prelude,' 

cess  in  operation,  showing  how  this  idea  reconciled  all  the  anoma- 
lies, and  promised  future  glory"  and  restoration.  Something  of 
this  sort  was,  I  think,  agreed  on.  It  is,  in  substance,  what  I  have 
been  all  my  life  doing  in  my  system  of  philosophy. 

'  I  think  Wordsworth  possessed  more  of  the  genius  of  a  great 
philosophic  poet  than  any  man  I  ever  knew,  or,  as  I  believe,  has 
existed  in  England  since  Milton ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  he  ought 
never  to  have  abandoned  the  contemplative  position  which  is 
peculiarly  —  perhaps,  I  might  say  exclusively  —  fitted  for  him. 
His  proper  title  is  Spectator  ab  extra.* 

*  P.  370.  «  Prelude,  p.  3,  and  p.  175. 

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804  COHTUnJATION   OF 

(which  is  e&titled  *  Cambridge  and  the  Alpa,^)  in  April, 
1804,  for  he  there  says, 

*FouT  years  and  thirty ^  told  this  yery  week, 
Have  I  been  now  a  sojourner  on  earth, 
By  sorrow  not  unsmitten  )  yet  for  me 
Life's  morning  radiance  hath  not  left  the  hills ; 
^        Her  dew  is  on  the  flowers.' 

The  work  proceeded  rapidly  in  the  autumn  of  1804. 
On  the  25th  December  of  that  year,  he  thus  writes  to  Sir 
G.  Beaumont : 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

<  Gtasmere,  Dec,  25,  1804. 
*  My  dear  Sir  George, 
*  You  will  be  pleased  to  hear  that  I  have  been  advancing 
with  my  work :  I  have  written  upwards  of  2000  verses 
during  the  last  ten  weeks.  I  do  not  know  if  you  are 
exactly  acquainted  with  the  plan  of  my  poetical  labour : 
it  is  twofold  ;  first,  a  Poem,  to  be  called  "  The  Recluse ; " 
in  which  it  will  be  my  object  to  express  in  verse  my  most 
interesting  feelings  concerning  man,  nature,  and  society ; 
and  next,  a  poem  (in  which  I  am  at  present  chiefly  engaged) 
on  my  earlier  life^  or  the  growth  of  my  own  mind,  taken 
up  upon  a  large  scale.  This  latter  work  I  expect  to  have 
finished  before  the  month  of  May ;  and  then  I  purpose  to 
fall  with  all  my  might  on  the  former,  which  is  the  chief 
object  upon  which  my  thoughts  have  been  fixed  these 
many  years.  Of  this  poem,  that  of  "The  Pedlar,"^ 
which  Coleridge  read  you-,  is  part,  and  I  may  have  written 
of  it  altogether  about  2000  lines.  It  will  consist,  I  hope, 
of  about  ten  or  twelve  thousand.' 

^  The  Excursion.    'The  Pedlar'  was  the  title  once  proposed, 
from  the  character  of  the  Wanderer,  but  abandoned. 

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*THB   PRBLITDE.'  805 

He  was  employed  on  the  seventh  book  in  the  beginning 
of  1805. 

'  Six  changeful  years  have  vanished  since  I  first 
Poured  out,  saluted  by  that  quickening  breeze. 
Which  met  rae  Issuing  from  the  city's  walls, 
A  glad  preamble  to  this  verse  ..." 

The  spring  of  1805  appears  to  have  been  very  favoura* 
ble  to  his  efforts.     He  thus  writes  concerning  his  pro* 


To  Sir  George  Beaumont,  Bart. 

*Grasmere,  May  1,  1805. 
*  My  dear  Sir  George, 
*  I  have  wished  to  write  to  you  every  day  this  long  time, 
but  I  have  also  had  another  wish,  which  has  interfered  to 
prevent  rae ;  I  mean  the  wish  to  resume  my  poetical  la- 
bours :  time  was  stealing  away  fast  from  me,  and  nothing 
done,  and  my  mind  still  seeming  unfit  to  do  anything.  At 
first  I  had  a  strong  impulse  to  write  a  poem  that  should 
record  my  brother's  virtues,  and  be  worthy  of  his  memory. 
I  began  to  give  vent  to  my  feelings,  with  this  view,  but  I 
was  overpowered  by  my  subject,  and  could  not  proceed,  I 
composed  much,  but  it  is  all  lost  except  a  few  lines,  as  it 
came  from  me  in  such  a  torrent  that  I  was  unable  to 
remember  it.  I  could  not  hold  the  pen  myself,  and  the 
subject  was  such  that  I  could  not  employ  Mrs.  Wordsworth 
or  my  sister  as  my  amanuensis.  This  work  must  there- 
fore rest  awhile  till  I  am  something  calmer ;  I  shall,  how- 
ever, never  be  at  peace  till,  as  far  as  in  me  lies,  I  have 
done  justice  to  my  departed  brother's  memory.  His  heroic 
death  (the  particulars  of  which  I  have  now  accurately  col- 
lected from  several  of  the  survivors)  exacts  this  from  me, 

>  P.  171. 
VOL.  1.  20  n        } 

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BOS  COKTINITATION   OF 

mnd  still  more  his  singulariy  interesting  character,  and 
virtuous  and  innocent  life. 

*  Unahle  to  proceed  with  this  work,  I  turned  my  thoughts 
again  to  the  Poem  on  my  own  Life^  and  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear  that  I  have  added  300  lines  to  it  in  the  course  of 
last  week.  Two  books  more  will  conclude  it.  It  will  be 
Qot  much  less  than  9000  lines,  —  not  hundred  but  thou- 
aaad  lines  long,  —  an  alarming  length  I  and  a  thing 
unprecedented  in  literary  history  that  a  man  should  talk  so 
much  about  himself.  It  is  not  self-conceit,  as  you  will 
know  well,  that  has  induced  me  to  do  this,  but  real  humili- 
ty. I  began  the  work  because  I  was  unprepcsred  to  treat 
any  more  arduous  subject  ^  and  diffident  of  my  ownpotoers* 
Here,  at  least,  I  hoped  that  to  a  certain  degree  I  should  be 
sure  of  succeeding,  as  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  describe 
what  I  had  felt  and  thought,  and  therefore  cou[d  not  easily 
be  bewildered.  This  might  have  been  done  in  narrower 
compass  by  a  man  of  more  address ;  but  I  have  done  my 
best.  If,  when  the  work  shall  be  finished,  it  appears  to  the 
judicious  to  have  redundancies,  they  shall  be  lopped  off,  if 
possible ;  but  this  is  very  difficult  to  do,  when  a  man  has 
written  with  thought ;  and  this  defect,  whenever  I  have 
suspected  it  or  found  it  to  exist  in  any  writings  of  mine,  I 
have  always  found  incurable.  The  fault  lies  too  deep,  and 
is  in  the  first  conception.  If.  you  see  Coleridge  before  I 
do,  do  not  speak  of  this  to  him,  as  I  should  like  to  have  his 
judgment  unpreoccupied  by  such  an  apprehension.  I  wish 
much  to  have  your  further  opinion  of  the  young  Roscius, 
above  all  of  his  "  Hamlet."  It  is  certainly  impossible  that 
he  should  understand  the  character,  that  is,  the  composition 
of  the  character.  But  many  of  the  sentiments  which  are 
put  into  Hamlet's  mouth  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  capa- 
ble of  feeling,  and  to  a  certain  degree  of  entering  into  the 
spirit  of  some  of  the  situations.     I  never  saw  '^  Hamlet " 

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acted  myself.,  nor  do  I  know  what  kind  of  a  play  they  make 
of  it.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  some  parts  which  I  con- 
sider among  the  finest  are  omitted  ;  in  particular,  Hamlet^s 
wild  language  after  the  ghost  has  disappeared.  The 
players  have  taken  intolerable  liberties  with  Shakspeare's 
Plays,  especially  with  "  Richard  the  Third,"  which,  though 
a  character  admirably  conceived  and  drawn,  is  in  some 
scenes  bad  enough  in  Shakspeare  himself;  but  the  play, 
as  it  is  now  acted,  has  always  appearejd  to  me  a  disgrace 
to  the  English  stage.  "  Hamlet,"  I  suppose,  is  treated  by 
them  with  more  reverence.  They  are  both  characters  far, 
far  above  the  abilities  of  any  actor  whom  I  have  ever 
seen.  Henderson  was  before  my  time,  and,  of  course, 
Garrick. 

•  *  We  are  looking  anxiously  for  Coleridge :  perhaps  he 
may  be  with  you  now.  We  were  afraid  that  he  might 
have  had  to  hear  other  bad  news  of  our  family,  as  Lady 
Beaumont's  little  god-daughter  has  lately  had  that  danger- 
ous complaint,  the  croup,  particularly  dangerous  here, 
where  we  are  thirteen  miles  from  any  medical  advice  on 
which  we  can  have  the  least  reliance.  Her  case  has  been 
a  mild  one,  but  sufficient  to  alarm  us  much,  and  Mrs. 
Wordsworth  and  her  aunt  have  undergone  much  fatigue 
in  sitting  up,  as  for  nearly  a  fortnight  she  had  very  bad 
nights.     She  yet  requires  much  care  and  attention. 

'  Is  your  building  going  on  ?  I  wets  mortified  that  the 
sweet  little  valley,  of  which  you  spoke  some  time  ago, 
was  no  longer  in  the  possession  of  your  family  :  it  is  the 
place,  I  believe,  where  that  illustrious  and  most  extraor- 
dinary man,  Beaumont  the  Poet,  and  his  brother,  were 
bom.  One  is  astonished  when  one  thinks  of  that  man 
having  been  only  eight-and-twenty  years  of  age,  for  I 
believe  he  was  no  more,  when  he  died.  Shakspeare, 
we  are  told,  had  scarcely  written  a  single  play  at  that 

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306  ,  CONTINUATION   OF 

age,  I  hope,  for  the  sake  of  poets,  you  are  proud  of  these 
men. 

^Lady  Beaumont  mentioned  some  time  ago  that  you 
were  painting  a  picture  from  The  Thorn :  is  it  finished  ? 
I  should  like  to  see  it ;  the  poem  is  a  favourite  with  me, 
and  I  shall  love  it  the  better  for  the  honour  you  have  done 
it.  We  shall  be  most  happy  to  have  the  other  drawing 
which  you  promised  us  some  time  ago.  The  dimensions 
of  the  Applethwaite  one  are  eight  inches  high,  and  a  very 
little  above  ten  broad ;  this,  of  course,  exclusive  of  the 
margin. 

^  I  am  anxious  to  know  how  your  health  goes  on  :  we 
are  better  than  we  had  reason  to  expect  When  we  look 
back  upon  this  spring,  it  seems  like  a  dreary  dream  to  us. 

*  But  I  trust  in  God  that  we  shall  yet "  bear  up  and  steer 
right  onward."  <     • 

*  Farewell.     I  am,  your  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  Wordsworth.' 

The  next  letter,  written  after  a  month's  interval,  an- 
nounces the  conclusion  of '  The  Prelude.' 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

*Chrasmere,  June  3,  1805. 
'  My  dear  Sir  George, 
'  1  write  to  you  from  the  moss-hut  at  the  top  of  my 
orchard,  the  sun  just  sinking  behind  the  hills  in  front  of 
the  entrance,  and  his  light  falling  upon  the  green  moss  of 
the  side  opposite  me.     A  linnet  is  singing  in  the  tree 
above,  and  the  children  of  some  of  our  neighbours,  who 
have  been  to-day  little  John's  visitors,  are  playing  below, 
equally  noisy  and  happy.     The  green  fields  in  the  level 
area  of  the  vale,  and  part  of  the  lake,  lie  before  me  in  quiet- 
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*  THE  >  PBELir DE.'  809 

ness.  I  have  just  been  reading  two  newspapers,  full  of 
factious  brawls  about  Lord  Melville  and  his  delinquencies, 
ravage  of  the  French  in  the  West  Indies,  victories  of  the 
English  in  the  East,  fleets  of  ours  roaming  the  sea  in 
search  of  enemies  whom  they  cannot  find,  &c.  &c. ;  and 
I  have  asked  myself  more  than  once  lately,  if  my  affec- 
tions can  be  in  the  right  place,  caring  as  I  do  so  little 
about  what  the  world  seems  to  care  so  much  for.  All  this 
seems  to  me,  "  a  tale  told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and 
fury,  signifying  nothing."  It  is  pleasant  in  such  a  mood 
to  turn  one's  thoughts  to  a  good  man  and  a  dear  friend. 
I  have,  therefore,  taken  up  the  pen  to  write  to  you.  And, 
first,  let  me  thank  you  (which  I  ought  to  have  done  long 
ago,  and  should  have  done,  but  that  I  knew  I  had  a  license 
from  you  to  procrastinate),  for  your  most  acceptable  pres- 
ent of  Colefidge's  portrait,  welcome  in  itself,  and  more  so 
as  coming  from  you.  It  is  as  good  a  resemblance  as  I 
expect  to  see  of  Coleridge,  taking  it  altogether,  for  I  con- 
sider C.'s   as   a   face   absolutely   impracticable.*      Mrs. 

*  [This  opinioii  is  confirmed  by  the  modest  expression  of  an 
Artist's  experience  —  one  too  who  had  achieved  a  portrait  of  Cole- 
ridge, which  Wordsworth,  as  will  be  seen  hereafter  in  his  letter  of 
March  27,  1843,  pronounced  incomparably  the  best :  the  late 
"Washington  AUston,  in  a  letter  addressed  to  me,  and  dated  Cam- 
bridge-Port, Mass.,  June,  13,  1843,  (not  improbably  the  last  he 
ever  wrote)  thus  spoke  on  this  subject :  —  *  So  far  as  I  can  judge 
of  my  own  production,  the  likeness  is  a  true  one ;  but  it  is  Cole- 
ridge in  repose ;  and  though  not  unstirred  by  the  perpetual  ground- 
swell  of  his  ever-working  intellect,  and  shadowing  forth  something 
of  the  deep  Philosopher,  it  is  not  Coleridge  in  his  highest  mood  — 
the  poetic  state.  When  in  that  state,  no  face  that  I  ever  saw  was 
like  to  his  ;  it  seemed  almost  spirit  made  visible,  without  a  shadow 
of  the  physical  upon  it.  Could  I  have  then  fixed  it  on  canvass  — 
bat  it  was  beyond  the  reach  of  my  art.  He  was  the  greatest  man 
I  have  known,  and  one  of  the  best  —  as  his  nephew  Henry  Nelson 
most  truly  said,  ''a  thousand  times  more  sinned  against  than 
sinning." '  —  h.  a.]  Digitized  by  Goog le 


Sid  coHTiinrATioN  of 

Wordsworth  was  overjoyed  at  the  sight  of  the  print,  Doro- 
thy and  I  much  pleased.  We  think  it  excellent  ahout  the 
eyes  and  forehead,  which  are  the  finest  parts  of  C.^s  facoi 
and  the  general  contour  of  the  face  is  well  given ;  but,  to 
my  sister  and  me,  it  seems  to  fail  sadly  about  the  middle 
of  the  face,  particularly  at  the  bottom  of  the  nose.  Mrs. 
W.  feels  this  also ;  and  my  sister  so  much,  that,  except 
when  she  covers  the  whole  of  the  middle  of  the  face,  it 
seems  to  her  so  entirely  to  alter  the  expression,  as  rather 
to  confound  than  revive  in  her  mind  the  remembrance  of 
the  original.  We  think,  as  far  as  mere  likeness  goes, 
Hazlitt's  is  better ;  but  the  expression  in  HazUtt's  is  quite 
dolorous  and  funereal ;  that  in  this  is  much  more  pleasing, 
though  certainly  falling  far  below  what  one  would  wish  to 
see  infused  into  a  picture  of  C. 

*  I  have  the  pleasure  to  say,  that  I  finished  my  pomn 
about  a  fortnight  ago.  I  had  looked  forward  to  the  day 
as  a  most  happy  one ;  and  I  was  indeed  grateful  to  God 
for  giving  me  life  to  complete  the  work,  such  as  it  is. 
But  it  was  not  a  happy  day  for  me ;  I  was  dejected  on 
many  accounts ;  when  I  looked  back  upon  the  perform- 
ance, it  seemed  to  have  a  dead  weight  about  it,  —  the 
reality  so  far  short  of  the  expectation.  It  was  the  first 
long  labour  that  I  had  finished ;  and  the  doubt  whether  I 
should  ever  live  to  write  The  Recluse^  and  the  sense  which 
I  had  of  this  poem  being  so  far  below  what  I  seemed 
capable  of  executing,  depressed  me  much;  above  all, 
many  heavy  thoughts  of  my  poor  departed  brother  hung 
upon  me,  the  joy  which  I  should  have  had  in  showing  him 
the  manuscript,  and  a  thousand  other  vain  fancies  and 
dreams.  I  have  spoken  of  this,  because  it  was  a  state  of 
feeling  new  to  me,  the  occasion  being  new.  This  work 
may  be  considered  as  a  sort  of  portico  to  "  The  Recluse," 
part  of  the  same  building,  which  1  hope  to  be  able,  ere 

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long,  to  begin  with  in  eaniest ;  and  if  I  am  permitted  to 
bring  it  to  a  conclusion,  and  to  write,  further,  a  narrative 
poem  of  the  epic  kind,  1  shall  consider  the  task  of  my  lif^ 
as  over.  I  ought  to  add,  that  I  have  the  satisfaction  ef 
finding  the  present  poem  not  quite  of  so  alarming  a  leogtb 
as  I  apprehended. 

^  I  wish  much  to  hear  from  you,  if  you  have  leisure ; 
but  as  you  are  so  indulgent  to  me,  it  would  be  the  high^iA 
injustice  were  I  otherwise  to  you. 

*We  have  read  "Madoc,"  and  been  highly  pleased 
virith  it  It  abounds  in  beautiful  pictures  and  descriptions^ 
happily  introduced,  and  there  is  an  animation  diffused 
through  the  whole  story,  though  it  cannot,  perhaps,  be 
said  that  any  of  the  characters  interest  you  much,  except^ 
perhaps,  young  Llewellyn,  whose  situation  is  highly  inter* 
esting,  and  he  appears  to  me  the  best  conceived  and 
sustained  character  in  the  piece.  His  speech  to  his  uncle 
at  their  meeting  in  the  island  is  particularly  interesting. 
The  poem  fails  in  the  highest  gifls  of  the  poet^s  mind, 
imagination  in  the  true  sense  of  the  word,  and  knowledge 
of  human  nature  and  die  human  heart.  There  is  nothing 
that  shows  the  hand  of  the  great  master  ;  but  the  beauties 
in  description  are  innumerable ;  for  instance,  that  of  the 
figure  of  the  bard,  towards  the  beginning  of  the  conven- 
tion of  the  bards,  receiving  the  poetic  inspiration ;  that  of 
the  wife  of  Tlalala,  the  savage,  going  out  to  meet  her 
husband;  that  of  Madoc,  and  the  Atzecan  king  with  a 
long  name,  preparing  for  battle  ;  everywhere,  indeed,  you 
have  beautiful  descriptions,  and  it  is  a  work  which  does 
the  author  high  credit,  I  think.  I  should  like  to  know 
your  opinion  of  it.  Farewell !  Best  remembrances  and 
love  to  Lady  Beaumont.  Believe  me, 
*  My  dear  Sir  George, 

*  Your  most  sincere  friend. 

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Digitiz 


SIS  CONTIMITATION  OF 

*  The  poem,  thus  completed,  reposed  quiedy  for  many 
years.  It  had  served  its  purpose  as  an  experiment,  firom 
which  the  author  might  ascertain  how  far  he  was  qualified, 
*by  nature  and  education,  to  construct  a  literary  work 
that  might  live.^  ^  Henceforth  he  resolved  to  devote  his 
energies  to  ^  The  Recluse/  To  use  his  own  illustrations, 
the  ^  portico  ^  yas  built,  he  would  now  erect  th^  house  ; 
or,  to  adopt  his  other  metaphor,  'the  ante-chapel'  was 
constructed,  he  would  now  proceed  to  the  choir. 

He  executed  the  first  book^  of  the  first  part  of  *The 
Recluse,'  which  takes  up  the  thread  of  the  personal  narra- 
tive, where  it  leaves  off  in  '  The  Prelude,'  and  begins 
with  describing  the  commencement  of  his  ^  Residence  at 
Grasmere;'  after  which  introduction,  it  propounds  the 
subject  in  the  lines  which  are  printed,  as  a  prospectus,  in 
the  preface  to  '  The  Excursion  : ' 

'  On  man,  on  nature,  and  on  human  life, 
Musing  in  solitude,  I  oft  perceive 
Fair  trains  of  imagery  before  me  rise.' 

However,  circumstances  arose  to  draw  his  mind  from 
proceeding  in  a  direct  course  with  the  first  part  of  '  The 
Recluse,'  and  to  transfer  his  attention  to  the  intermediate 
or  dramatic  part,  which  has  been  given  to  the  world  as 
*  The  Excursion.' 

'  The  Prelude  '  having  discharged  its  duty  in  its  exper- 
imental character,  remained  in  manuscript  during  the 
residue  of  the  author's  life,  forty-five  years.  It  was 
occasionally  revised  by  him,  and  received  his  final  cor- 
rections in  the  year  1832,  and  was  left  by  him  for  publi- 
cation at  his  decease. 

*  See  preface  to  '  Excursion,'  and  advertisement  to  '  The  Pre- 
lude.' 

*  Still  remaining  in  MS. 

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*•  THB   PBBLUDB.'  313 

Accordingly  it  was  given  to  the  world  in  the  summer  of 
1850. 

Its  title,  ^  The  Prelude,^  had  not  been  fixed  on  by  the 
author  himself:  the  Poem  remained  anonymous  till  his 
death.  The  present  title  has  been  prefixed  to  it  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  beloved  partner  of  his  life,  and  the  best 
interpreter  of  his  thoughts,  from  considerations  of  its  ten- 
tative and  preliminary  character.  Obviously  it  would 
have  been  desirable  to  mark  its  relation  to  '  The  Recluse  ' 
by  some  analogous  appellation ;  but  this  could  not  easily 
be  done,  at  the  same  time  that  its  other  essential  charac- 
teristics were  indicated.  Besides,  the  appearance  of  this 
poem,  txfter  the  author's  death,  might  tend  to  lead  some 
readers  into  an  opinion  that  it  was  his  ^naZ  production, 
instead  of  being,  as  it  really  is,  one  of  his  earlier  works. 
They  were  to  be  guarded  against  this  supposition.  Hence 
a  name  has  been  adopted,  which  may  serve!  to  keep  the 
true  nature  and  position  of  the  poem  constantly  before  the 
eye  of  the  reader ;  and  '  The  Prelude  '  will  now  be  pe- 
rused and  estimated  with  the  feelings  properly  due  to  its 
preparatory  character,  and  to  the  period  at  which  it  was 
composed. 


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CHAPTER   XXIV. 

OTHER   POEMS   WRITTEN   IN    1805    AND    1806. 

The  year  1805  was  one  of  the  most  productive  in  Words- 
worth^s  poetical  life.  In  addition  to  the  latter  books  of 
*The  Prelude,'  which  were  then  written,. he  composed 

*  The  Waggoner '  at  about  the  same  period.  ^  The  sceae 
of  this  poem  was  laid  in  his  own  vale  and  neighbourhood  ; 
and  none  of  his  tales  appear  to  have  been  written  with 
greater  facility.  This  poem  also  was  reserved  in  manu- 
script for  many  years :  it  was  not  published  till  1819» 
twelve  years  after  its  composition,  when  it  was  inscribed 
to  the  author's  friend,  to  whose  memory  he  afterwarda 
paid  so  feeling  a  tribute,  ^  Charles  Lamb. 

In  the  same  year  also  was  produced  the  Ode  to  Duiy,^* 

*  on  the  model,'  as  the  author  says, '  of  Gray's  Ode  to  Ad.* 
versity,  which  is  copied  from  Horace's  Ode  to  Fortune.'  * 

In  1805  was  likewise  written.  An  Incident  Character- 
istic  of  a  favourite  Dog,^  The  incident  occurred  at 
Sockburn-on-Tees  mdny  years  before.  '  This  dog,'  says 
the  author,  '  I  knew  well.     It  belonged  to  Mrs,  Words- 

>  Vol.  ii.  p.  68.  «  Vol.  V.  p.  141.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  210. 

<  MSS.  I.  F.  *  Vol.  iv.  p.  205. 

*  [In  the  edition  of  1836-7,  the  following  motto  was  prefixed 
to  the  '  Ode  to  Duty : '  '  Jam  non  consilio  bonus,  sed  more  ^o  per- 
ductus,  ut  non  tantum  rectd  facere  possim,  sed  nisi  rect^  fabere 
non  possim.'  —  h.  r.J 

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OTHER  POEMS.  315 

worth's  brother,  Mr.  Thomas  Hutchinson,  who  then  lived 
at  Sockbum-on-Tees,  a  beautiful  retired  situation,  where 
I  used  to  visit  him  and  his  sisters  before  my  marriage. 
My  sister  and  I  spent  many  months  there  after  my  return 
from  Germany  in  1799.' 

The  Trihute  to  the  Memory  of  the  same  Dog^  was  writ- 
ten at  the  same  time,  1805.  The  dog  Music  died,  aged 
and  blind,  by  falling  into  a  draw-well  at  Gallow  Hill,  to 
the  great  grief  of  the  family  of  the  Hutchinsons,  who,  as 
has  been  before  mentioned,  had  removed  to  that  place 
from  Sockbura. 

Fidelity^  a  pribute  to  the  memory  of  another  dog,^  was 
composed  in  the  same  year.  On  these  very  affecting  lines 
the  following  record  was  given  by  the  writer.  *  The 
young  man  whose  death  gave  occasion  to  this  poem  was 
named  Charles  Gough,  and  had  come  early  in  the  spring 
to  Paterdale  for  the  sake  of  angling.  While  attempting  to 
cross  over  Helvellyn  to  Grasmere  he  slipped  from  a  steep 
part  of  the  rock  where  the  ice  was  not  thawed,  and  per- 
ished. His  body  was  discovered  as  described  in  this 
poem.3  Sir  Walter  Scott  heard  of  the  accident,  and  he 
and  I,  without  either  of  us  knowing  that  the  other  had 
taken  up  the  subject,  each  wrote  a  poem  in  admiration 
of  the  dog's  fidelity.*  His  contains  a  most  beautiful 
stanza.         «... 

*  I  will  add  that  the  sentiment  in  the  last  four  lines  of 


>  Vol.  iv.  p.  206.  2  Vol.  iv.  p.  207. 

'  He  lies  buried  in  Paterdale  churchyard. 
*  Sir  W.  Scott's  poem  is  entitled  '  Helvellyn/  and  will  be  found 
among  his  Ballads,  p.  180,  edit.  1806. 
The  stanza  referred  to  by  Mr.  Wordsworth  is  that  beginning, 

'  How  long  didal  thou  think  that  his  silence  was  slumber  ? 
When  the  wind  waved  his  garment,  how  oft  didst  thou  start  ? ' 


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316  OTHER  POSMS 

the  last  stanza  of  my  verses  was  uttered  by  a  shepherd 
with  such  exactness,  that  a  traveller,  who  afterwards  re- 
ported  his  account  in  print,  was  induced  to  question  the 
man  whether  he  had  read  them,  which  he  had  not.'  ^ 

On  occasion  of  this  mention  of  Sir  Walter  Scott^s 
name,  it  may  be  recorded,  that  he.  Sir  Humphry  Davy, 
and  Mr.  Wordsworth,  ascended  together  the  mountain, 
Helvellyn,*  on  which  this  catastrophe  occurred,  in  the 
autumn  of  this  year ;  and  probably  the  two  Poets  heard 
the  story  of  the  event  at  the  same  time,  and  at  the  same 
place.  A  memorial  of  this  ascent  is  found  in  the  ^  Mus- 
ings at  Aquapendente,' 3  written  more  than  thirty  years 
afterwards. 

'  Onward  thence 
And  downward  by  the  skirt  of  Greenside  fell, 
And  by  Glenridding-screes,  and  low  Glencoign, 
Places  forsaken  now,  though  loving  still 
The  Muses,  as  they  loved  them  in  the  days 
Of  the  old  minstrels  and  the  border  bards. 

'  '  One  there  surely  was, 

"  The  Wizard  of  the  North,"  with  anxious  hope 
Brought  to  this  genial  climate,  when  disease 
Preyed  upon  body  and  mind — yet  not  the  less 
Had  his  sunk  eye  kindled  at  those  dear  words 
That  spake  of  bards  and  minstrels ;  and  his  spirit 
Had  flown  with  mine  to  old  Helvellyn's  brow. 
Where  once  together,  in  his  day  of  strength, 
We  stood  rejoicing,  as  if  earth  were  free 
From  sorrow,  like  the  sky  above  our  heads.* 

»  MSS.  I.  F.  «  Vol.  iii.  p.  154. 

*  [Mr.  Lockhart  in  his  Life  of  Scott  writes,  —  *  I  have  heard 
Mr.  Wordsworth  say,  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  express  the  feel- 
ings with  which  he,  who  so  often  had  climbed  Helvellyn  alone, 
found  himself  standing  on  its  summit  with  (Wo  such  men  as 
Scott  and  Davy.*    Vol.  u.  Chap.  xiv.  p.  275.  —  n.  a.] 

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WRITTEN   IN   1806   AND   1806.  317 

Soon  afterwards,  Wordsworth  addressed  to  Scott  a  let- 
ter, on  the  genius  of  Dryden,  whose  works  Sir  Walter 
was  about  to  edit.  This  letter  was  written  from  the  vale 
of  the  northern  foot  of  Helvellyn,  Paterdale,  soon  after 
their  excursion.  ^ 

*Paterdah,N(nf.'r,  1805. 
'  My  dear  Scott, 
^  I  was  much  pleased  to  hear  of  your  engagement  with 
Dryden ;  not  that  he  is,  as  a  poet,  any  great  favourite  of 
mine.  I  admire  his  talents  and  genius  highly,  but  his  is 
not  a  poetical  genius.  The  only  qualities  I  can  find  in 
Dryden  that  are  essentially  poetical,  are  a  certain  ardour 
and  impetuosity  of  mind,  with  an  excellent  ear.  It  may 
seem  strange  that  I  do  not  add  to  this,  great  command  of 
language ;  that  he  certainly  has,  and  of  such  language 
too,  as  it  is  most  desirable  that  a  poet  should  possess,  or 
rather,  that  he  should  not  be  without.  But  it  is  not  lan- 
guage that  is,  in  the  highest  sense  of  the  word,  poetical, 
being  neither  of  the  imagination  nor  of  the  passions ;  I 
mean  the  amiable,  the  ennobling,  or  the  intense  passions. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  there  is  nothing  of  this  in  Dry- 
den, but  as  little,  I  think,  as  is  possible,  considering  how 
much  he  has  written.  You  will  easily  understand  my 
meaning,  when  I  refer  to  his  versification  of  "  Palamon 
and  Arcite,"  as  contrasted  with  the  language  of  Chaucer. 
Dryden  had  neither  a  tender  heart  nor  a  lofly  sense  of 
moral  dignity.  Whenever  his  language  is  poetically  im- 
passioned, it  is  mostly  upon  unpleasing  subjects,  such  as 
the  follies,  vices,  and  crimes  of  classes  of  men,  or  of  in- 
dividuals. That  his  cannot  be  the  language  of  imagination, 
must  have  necessarily  followed  from  this ;  that  there  is  not 

'  From  Lockhart's  Life  of  Scott,  vol.  ii.  p.  287. 

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818  CPTHBE  ?<ttMS 

a  single  image  from  nature  in  the  whole  body  of  his 
works ;  and  in  his  translation  from  Virgil,  whenerer  Vii^l 
can  be  fairly  said  to  have  his  eye  upon  his  object,  Dryden 
always  spoils  the  passage. 

*  But  too  much  of  this ;  I  am  glad  that  you  are  to  he 
his  editor.  His  political  and  satirical  pieces  may  be 
greatly  benefited  by  illustration,  and  even  absolutely  re- 
quire it.  A  correct  text  is  the  first  object  of  an  editor ; 
then  such  notes  as  explain  difficult  or  obscure  passages  ; 
and  lastly,  which  is  much  less  important,  notes  pmnting 
out  authors  to  whom  the  Poet  has  been  indebted,  not  in 
the  fiddling  way  of  phrase  here  and  phrase  there  (which 
is  detestable  as  a  general  practice),  but  where  he  has  had 
essential  obligations  either  as  to  matter  or  manner. 

*  If  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  you,  do  not  fail  to  apply  to 
me.  One  thing  I  may  take  the  liberty  to  suggest,  which 
is,  when  you  come  to  the  fables,  might  it  not  be  advisable 
to  print  the  whole  of  the  Tales  of  Boccace  in  a  smaller 
type  in  the  original  language  ?  If  this  should  look  too 
much  like  swelling  a  book,  I  should  certainly  make  such 
extracts  as  would  show  where  Dryden  has  most  strikingly 
improved  upon,  or  fallen  below,  his  original.  I  think  his 
translations  from  Boccace  are  the  best,  at  least  the  most 
poetical,  of  his  poems.  It  is  many  years  since  I  saw 
Boccace,  but  I  remember  that  Sigismunda  is  not  married 
by  him  to  Guiscard  (the  names  are  different  in  Boccace 
in  both  tales,  I  believe,  certainly  in  Theodore,  ^.)  I 
think  Dryden  has  much  injured  the  story  by  the  marriage, 
and  degraded  Sigismunda's  character  by  it.  He  has  also, 
to  the  best  of  my  remembrance,  degraded  her  still  more, 
by  making  her  love  absolute  sensuality  and  appetite ; 
Dryden  had  no  other  notion  of  the  passion.  With  all 
these  defects,  and  they  are  very  gross  ones,  it  is  a  noble 
poem.  Guiscard^s  answer,  when  first  reproached  by  Tan- 
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WRITTSN   III   1809  AMD   1806.  319 

^ed,  is  noUe  ia  Boccace,  nothing  but  this :  Amor  puH 
meilto  piu  che  ne  voi  neio  possiamo.  This,  Dryden  has 
spoiled.  He  says  first  very  well,  "  The  faults  of  love  by 
love  are  justified,''  and  then  come  four  lines  of  miserable 
nmt,  quite  d  la  Maximin,  Farewell,  and  believe  me  ever, 
^  Your  affectionate  friend, 

*WillUm  Woedswobth.' 

The  beauties  of  Paterdale,  whence  this  letter  was  writ- 
ten, for  a  time  divided  Wordsworth's  affection  with  those 
of  Grasmere.  An  account  of  a  week's  tour  made  by  him 
in  November  of  this  year,  with  his  sister,  from  Grasmere^ 
over  Kirkstone,  to  Paterdale,  UUeswater,  and  its  neigh* 
bourhood,  will  be  found  in  his  ^  Description  of  the  Lakes.'  ^ 
It  is  from  Miss  Wordsworth's  pen. 

At  the  head  of  UUeswater,  on  the  east  side,  stands  the 
magnificent  hill  called  Place  Fell.  Under  it  was  a  small 
cottage  and  a  little  estate  which  attracted  his  attention; 
and,  hearing  it  might  be  purchased,  he  made  an  offer  of  a 
certain  sum  (600Z.)  to  the  owner  of  it.  But  the  possessor 
would  not  accept  less  than  lOOOZ.  This  Mr.  Wordsworth 
did  not  think  it  prudent  to  give.  It  happened,  by  chance, 
that  the  late  Earl  Lonsdale,  who  was  not  then  acquainted 
with  Wordsworth,  heard  at  Lowther  of  the  Poet's  wish  to 
possess  it.  Lord  Lonsdale  employed  his  neighbour,  Mr. 
Thomas  Wilkinson,^  who  has  been  already  mentioned  in 
these  pages,  to  negotiate  the  purchase ;  and  with  a  view 
of  completing  it,  and  under  the  impression  that  it  was  to 
be  sold  for  that  sum,  his  lordship  paid  800Z.  to  Mr.  Words- 
worth's account.  This  unexpected  act  of  kindness,  per- 
formed in  the  most  gratifying  manner,  made  a  deep 
impression  on  the  Poet's  mind.   It  removed  every  remnant 

'  P.  119  - 132,  ed.  1835.  «  Above,  p.  55. 

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OTHSB  POSX8 

of  painful  feeling  that  might  still  have  lingered  there,  in 
connection  with  a  name  recently  home  hy  one  who  had 
debarred  him,  his  brothers,  and  sister,  from  the  enjoyment 
of  their  patrimony  for  nineteen  years.  The  name  of 
Lonsdale,  rendered  more  illustrious,  as  it  now  was,  hy  the 
private  and  public  virtues  of  its  noble  possessor,  became 
henceforth  an  object  of  affectionate  respect  to  the  house- 
hold at  Grasmere.  Nor  was  this  mark  of  regard  the  less 
appreciated  by  die  Poet,  although  he  thought  it  his  du^  to 
accept  the  property  at  Paterdale  only  on  condition  of  pay- 
ing 800Z. ;  ^  and  for  the  satisfaction  of  obtaining  it  at  this 
price,  he  felt  very  thankful  to  Lord  Lonsdale,  whose 
donation  was  so  far  applied  as  to  raise  that  sum  to  1000^., 
the  sum  required  to  complete  the  purchase,  and  he  was 
more  grateful  still  for  the  unsolicited  and  unlooked-for 
generosity  evinced  in  the  proffered  gift. 

Lord  Nelson  died  October  21,  1805;  Mr.  Pitt's  death 
took  place  in  the  following  year,  the  23d  January ;  and 
Mr.  Fox  followed  him  on  the  13th  September. 

It  has  been  mentioned  already,  that  some  features  of 
Nelson's  character  suggested  materials  for  Wordsworth's 
poem,  the  Happy  Warrior ^^  which  was  written  at  ibis 
time.* 

The  following  letter  to  Sir  George  Beaumont  touches 
on  that  subject,  and  on  the  decease  and  character  of 
Mr.  Pitt: 

>  400/.  of  which  was  supplied  by  Mrs.  Wordsworth. 
8  Above,  p.  298.    See  vol.  iv.  p.  212. 

*  [A  note  to  this  poem  when  it  was  first  published  in  the  editicm 
of  1807,  stated* that  it  was  written  soon  after  the  tidings  of  the 
death  of  Nelson  had  been  received,  and  that  the  author's  thoughts 
were  directed  to  the  subject  by  that  event.  From  all  the  subse- 
quent editions  the  note  was  withdrawn.  —  h.  r.] 

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WBITTBN  IN  1805  AND  1806.  811 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart, 

*Grasmere,  Feb,  11,  1806. 
'  My  dear  Sir  George, 

'  Upon  opening  this  letter,  you  must  have  seen  that  it  is 
aecompanied  with  a  copy  of  verses.  ^  I  hope  they  will 
give  you  some  pleasure,  as  it  will  be  the  best  way  in  which 
they  can  repay  me  for  a  little  vexation,  of  which  they  have 
been  the  cause.  They  were  written  several  weeks  ago, 
and  I  wished  to  send  them  to  you,  but  could  not  muster  up 
resolution,  as  I  felt  that  they  were  so  unworthy  of  the 
subject.  Accordingly,  I  kept  them  by  me  from  week  to 
week,  with  a  hope  (which  has  proved  vain)  that,  in  some 
happy  moment,  a  new  fit  of  inspiration  would  help  me  to 
mend  them ;  and  hence  my  silence,  which,  with  your  usual 
goodness,  I  know  you  will  excuse. 

'  You  will  find  that  the  verses  are  allusive  to  Lord  Nel- 
son ;  and  they  will  show  that  I  must  have  sympathized  with 
you  in  admiration  of  the  man,  and  sorrow  for  our  loss. 
Yet,  considering  the  matter  coolly,  there  was  little  to 
regret.  The  state  of  Lord  Nelson's  health,  I  suppose,  was 
such,  that  he  could  not  have  lived  long ;  and  the  first  burst 
of  exultation  upon  landing  in  his  native  country,  and  his 
reception  here,  would  have  been  dearly  bought,  perhaps, 
by  pain  and  bodily  weakness,  and  distress  among  his 
friends,  which  he  could  neither  remove  nor  alleviate.  Few 
men  have  ever  died  under  circumstances  so  likely  to  make 
their  deaths  of  benefit  to  their  country :  it  is  not  easy  to 
see  what  his  life  could  have  done  comparable  to  it.  The 
loss  of  such  men  as  Lord  Nelson  is,  indeed,  great  and 
real ;  but  surely  not  for  the  reason  which  makes  moat 
people  grieve,  a  supposition  that  no  other  such  man  is  in 

*  The  Happy  Warrior, 
vol..  I.  SI 

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Wtt  OTHBA  POEMS 

the  'country.     The  old  ballad  has  taught  us  bow  to  feel  on 
these  occasions : 


'I  trust  I  have  within  my  realms 
Five  hundred  good  as  he.' 


But  this  is  the  evil,  that  nowhere  is  merit  so  much  under 
the  power  of  what  (to  avoid  a  more  serious  expression)  one 
may  call  that  of  fortune,  as  in  military  and  naval  service  ; 
and  it  is  five  hundred  to  one  that  such  men  will  not  have 
Attained  situations  where  they  can  show  themselves  so  that 
the  country  may  know  in  whom  to  trust.  Lord  Nelson 
had  attained  that  situation  ;  and,  therefore,  I  think  (and 
not  for  the  other  reason),  ought  we  chiefly  to  lament  that 
he  is  taken  from  us, 

^  Mr.  Pitt  is  also  gone  !  by  tens  of  thousands  looked  upon 
in  like  manner  as  a  great  loss.  For  my  own  part,  as 
•probably  you  know,  I  have  never  been  able  to  regard  his 
political  life  with  complacency.  I  believe  him,  however, 
to  have  been  as  disinterested  a  man,  and  as  true  a  lover  df 
his  country,  as  it  was  possible  for  so  ambitious  a  man  to 
be^  His  first  wish  (though  probably  unknown  to  himself) 
was  that  his  country  should  prosper  under  his  administra* 
tion ;  his  next^  that  it  should  prosper.  Could  the  order 
4>f  these  wishes  have  been  reversed^  Mr.  Pitt  would  have 
mvoided  many  of  the  grievous  mistakes  into  which,  I  think, 
he  fell.  1  know,  my  dear  Sir  George,  you  will  give  me 
credit  for  speaking  without  arrogance  ;  and  I  am  aware  it 
is  not  unlikely  you  may  differ  greatly  from  me  in  these 
points.  But  I  like,  in  some  things,  to  differ  with  a  friend, 
and  that  he  should  know  I  differ  from  him  ;  it  seems  to 
make  a  more  healthy  friendship,  to  act  as  a  relief  to  those 
notions  and  feelings  which  we  have  in  common,  and  to 
give  them  a  grace  ^nd  spirit  which  they  could  not  other- 
wise possess.' 

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WSITTKir  IK   \9m  AKD   1806.  93S 

Something  of  the  same  spirit  as  manifests  itself  in  the 
above  remarks  on  Lord  Nelson^s  death,  is  displayed  in  tb« 
lines  written  in  the  autumn  of  this  year,  on  the  dissolution 
of  Mr.  Fox ;  the  same  kind  of  consolation  is  suggested  in 
both  cases : 

'  Loud  is  the  Vale !  the  Voice  is  up 
With  which  she  speaks  when  storms  are  gone.'  ^ 

In  that  poem,  all  true  greatness  is  represented  as  an 
emanation  from  the  one  everlasting  source  of  good  ;  and 
although  one  efflux  may  fail,  yet  the  fountain  is  inex* 
•haustible. 

Having  had  occasion  to  mention  incidentally  Mr.Thomas 
Wilkinson,  of  Yanwath  (which  lies  a  little  to  the  south  of 
Penrith,  and  half  way  between  it  and  Lowther),  I  may  here 
Tefer  more  directly  to  the  poem  addressed  to  him,  and 
descriptive  of  his  character  and  pursuits.  It  was  written 
in  1804  : 

'  Spade !  with  which  Wilkinson  had  tilled  his  lands, 
And  shaped  these  pleasant  walks  by  Emont's  side/  * 

In  connection  with  this  poem,  the  following  notice,  from 
the  mouth  of  the  author,  may  be  inserted  here  :  ^ 

To  the  Spade  of  a  Friend.  — '  This  person  was  Thomas 
Wilkinson,  a  quaker  by  religious  profession ;  by  natuml 
constitution  of  mind  —  or,  shall  I  venture  to  say,  by  Grod's 
grace.?  he  was  something  better.  He  had  inherited  a 
small  estate,  and  built  a  house  upon  it,  near  Yanwath, 
upon  the  banks  of  the  Emont.  I  have  heard  him  say  thst 
his  heart  used  to  beat,  in  his  boyhood,  when  he  heard  the 
sound  of  a  drum  and  fife.  Nevertheless,  the  spirit  of  en- 
terprise in  him  confined  itself  to  tilling  his  ground,  and 

»  Vol.  ▼.  p.  134.  «  Vol.  iv.  p.  202.  3  MSS.  I.  P. 

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824  OTHsm  POSMS 

conquering  such  obstacles  as  stood  in  the  way  of  its  fer^ 
tilhy.  Persons  of  his  religious  persuasion  do  now,  in  a 
fiur  greater  degree  than  formerly,  attach  themsehres  to 
trade  and  commerce.  He  kept  the  old  track.  As  repre* 
sented  in  this  poem,  he  employed  his  leisure  hours  in 
shaping  pleasant  walks  by  the  side  of  his  beloved  river, 
where  he  also  built  something  between  a  hermitage  and  a 
summer-house,*attaching  to  it  inscriptions,  after  the  man- 
ner of  Shenstone  at  his  Leasowes.  He  used  to  travel, 
from  time  to  time,  partly  from  love  of  nature,  and  partly 
with  religious  friends,  in  the  service  of  humanity.  His 
admiration  of  genius  in  every  department  did  him  much 
honour.  Through  his  connection  with  the  family  in  which 
Edmund  Burke  was  educated,  he  became  acquainted  with 
that  great  man,  who  used  to  receive  him  with  great  kind- 
ness and  condescension;  and  many  times  have  I  heard 
Wilkinson  speak  of  those  interesting  interviews.  He  was 
honoured  also  by  the  friendship  of  Elizabeth  Smith,  and  of 
Thomas  Clarkspn  and  his  excellent  wife,  and  was  much 
esteemed  by  Lord  and  Lady  Lonsdale,  and  every  member 
of  that  family.  Among  his  verses  (he  wrote  many),  are 
some  worthy  of  preservation  ;  one  little  poem  in  particu- 
lar, upon  disturbing,  by  prying  curiosity,  a  bird  while 
hatching  her  young  in  his  garden.  The  latter  part  of  this 
innocent  and  good  man^s  life  was  melancholy ;  he  became 
blind  ;  and  also  poor,  by  becoming  surety  for  some  of  his 
relations.  He  was  a  bachelor.  He  bore,  as  I  have  often 
witnessed,  his  calamities  with  unfailing  resignation.  I 
will  only  add,  that  while  working  in  one  of  his  fields,  he 
unearthed  a  stone  of  considerable  size,  then  another,  and 
then  two  more  ;  and  observing  that  they  had  been  placed 
in  order,  as  if  forming  the  segment  of  a  circle,  he  pro- 
ceeded carefully  to  uncover  the  soil,  and  brought  into 
view  a  beautiful  Druid*8  temple^  of  perfect,  though  small 

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WSITTSM  IN  1006  AMD  180«.  2M 

dimensions.  In  order  to  make  his  farm  more  compact,  he 
exchanged  this  field  for  another,  and,  I  am  sorry  to  add, 
the  new  propnetof  destroyed  this  interesting  relic  of  remote 
ages  for  some  vulgar  purpose.  The  fact,  so  far  ds  con- 
cerns Thomas  Wilkinson,  is  mentioned  in  the  note  on  a 
sonnet  on  Long  Meg  and  her  Daughters.^  ^ 

»  Vol.  iv.  p.  171. 


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CHAPTER   XXV. 

*  POEMS   IN   TWO   VOLUHES,^   PUBLISHED   IN   1807. 
UNPOPULAEITT. 

In  the  year  1807,  appeared  two  volumes,  m  12mo.,  of 
poems,  by  Mr.  Wordsworth.  These  were  then  published 
for  the  first  time,  and  they  consist  of  pieces,  for  the  most 
part  already  enumerated,  composed  in  the  interval  between 
the  year  1800,  when  the  two  volumes  of  *  Lyrical  Bal- 
lads'  appeared,  and  1607.^    The  motto  adopted  in  the 

*  The  contents  of  these  two  volumes  are  as  follows :  — 
CoifTE:fTs  or  Vol.  I. 
To  the  Daisy. 
Louisa. 
Fidelity. 

'  She  was  a  Phantom.' 
The  Redbreast  and  the  Butterfly. 
The  Sailor's  Mother. 
To  the  small  Celandine. 
To  the  same  Flower. 
Character  of  the  Happy  Warrior. 
The  Horn  of  Egremont  Castle. 

The  Affliction  of  Margaret of . 

The  Kitten  and  the  falling  Leaves. 

The  Seven  Sisters,  or  the  Solitude  of  Binnorie. 

To  H.  C.y  six  years  old. 

'  Among  all  lovely  things  my  love  had  been.' 

'  I  travelled  among  unknown  men.' 

Ode  to  Duty. 


! 


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title  ^  intimates   that  the   author  was  meditatiDg  other 
works  of  a  higher  strain^ 


POIMS  COXrOflKD  DOBIHO  M  TOUM,  CHOffLT  OV  FOOT. 

1.  Beggars. 

2.  To  a  Skylark. 

3.  *  With  how  sad  steps,  0  moon/  &c. 

4.  Alice  Fell. 

5.  Resolution  and  Independence. 


Prefatory  Sonnet. 

Part  the  First.  —  MtsceUaneous  Sonnets, 

1.  <  How  sweet  it  is  when  mother  Fancy  rocksw' 

2.  *  Where  lies  the  land  to  which  yon  ship  must  go  ? ' 

3.  Composed  after  a  Jonmey  across  the  Hambleton  HSlls, 

Yorkshire. 

4.  '  These  words  were  uttered  fn  a  pensive  mood.' 

5.  To  Sleep.    '  O  gentle  Sleep,  do  they  belong  to  thee? ' 

6.  To  Sleep.    '  A  flock  of  sheep  that  leisurely  pass  by.' 

7.  To  Sleep.    '  Fond  words  have  ofl  been  spoken  to  t&ee| 

Sleep.' 

8.  '  With  f<hips  the  sea  was  sprinkled  far  and  wide.' 

9.  To  the  River  Duddon. 

10.  From  the  Italian  of  Michael  Angelo.    '  Yes  hope/  dec. 

'  The  title  is  *  Poems  in  Two  Volumes,  by  William  Wordsworth, 
author  of  the  Lyrical  Ballads,'  with  the  motto  — 

'  Posterius  graviore  sono  tibi  Musa  lo^etur 
Nostra :  dabunt  cam  accuros  mihi  ten^wra  fractoa/* 

*  [This  motto  has  a  deeper  significaacy,  when  it  is  observed  that 
it  was  chosen  from  one  of  the  supposed  early  poems  of  a  Poet, 
who,  in  the  aAer  years,  achieved  greater  things  —  a  Poet,  like 
Wordsworth,  happy  in  his  friends  and  fortunes,  and  like  himi  too, 
uniting  a  genuine  modesty  with  rational  self-assuranca  The 
motto  will  be  found  among  the  opening  lines  of  Virgil's.  ^CttkK.' 

-H.  E.J 


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SM  ^POBMS  in  TWO  ▼OCOXSS,* 

Since  the  year  1798^  when  the  firat  volame  of  the 
*  L3rrical  Ballads '  was  published,  tiiere  appears  to  ha^e 

11.  From  the  same.    '  No  mortal  obfect  did  these  ^es  behold.' 

12.  From  the  same.    To  the  Sopreme  Being. 

13.  Written  in  very  early  Youth. 

14.  Composed  upon  Westminster  Bridge,  Sept.  3,  1803. 

15.  <  Beloved  Yale !  I  said/  ace. 

16.  '  Methought  I  saw  the  footsteps  of  a  throne.' 

17.  To .    <  I<ady !  the  songs  of  spring/  dec. 

18.  '  The  world  is  too  much  with  us/  &c. 

19.  '  It  is  a  beauteous  eveningi  calm  and  free.' 

20.  To  the  Memory  of  Raisley  Calyert. 

jPart  ihe  Second,  —  Sonnets  dedicated  to  Ubtrtff, 

V 

1.  Composed  by  the  Sea-side  near  Calais,  Aug.,  1802. 

2.  <  Is  it  a  Reed.' 

3.  To  a  Friend ;  composed  near  Calais  on  the  road  leadSng  to 

Ardres,  Aug.  7,  1802. 

4.  '  I  grieved  for  Buonaparte/  &c. 

5.  '  Festivals  have  I  seen  that  were  not  names.' 

6.  On  the  Extinction  of  the  Yenetian  Republic. 

7.  The  King  of  Sweden. 

8.  To  Toussaint  I'Ouverture. 

9.  '  We  had  a  fellow-passenger  who  came.' 

10.  Composed  in  the  Yalley  near  Dover  on  the  day  of  landing. 

11.  <  Inland,  within  a  hollow  vale  I  stood.' 

12.  Thought  of  a  Briton  on  the  subjugation  of  Switzerland. 

13.  Written  in  London,  Sept.,  1802. 

14.  '  Milton,  thou  shouldst  be  living  at  this  hoar.' 

15.  '  Great  men  have  been  among  us,'  Ace. 

16.  <  It  is  not  to  be  thought  of  that  the  flood.' 

17.  '  When  I  have  borne  in  memory  what  has  tamed.' 

18.  '  One  might  believe  that  natural  miseries.' 

19.  '  There  is  a  bondage  which  is  worse  to  bear.' 

20.  '  These  times  touch  moneyed  worldlings  with  dismay.' 

21.  '  England !  the  time  is  come  when  thou  shouldst  wean.' 

22.  <  When  looking  on  the  present  face  of  things.' 

23.  To  the  Men  of  Kent. 


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FimLISBBO  IV  1807. 

been  a  steady,  though  not  an  eager  demand,  for  his  poeti- 
cal works.    A  fourth  edition  of  ^t  volume  had  been 

24.  '  Six  thousand  veterans  practised  In  War's  game.' 

25.  Anticipation.    Oct.,  1803. 

26.  '  Another  year !  another  deadly  blow !  * 
Notes. 

CoNTBHTs  or  Vol.  II. 

POEMS   WRITTEN  DURING  A  TOUR   IN   SCOTLAND. 

1.  Rob  Boy's  Grave. 

2.  The  Solitary  Reaper. 

3.  Stepping  Westward. 

4.  Glen-Almain,  or  the  Narrow  Glen. 

5.  The  Matron  of  Jedbargh  and  her  Husband. 

6.  To  a  Highland  Girl. 

7.  Sonnet.    *  Degenerate  Douglas/  &c. 

8.  Address  to  the  Sons  of  Bums  after  visiting  their  Father's 

Grave,  Aug.  14,  1803. 

9.  Yarrow  unvisited. 

MOODS  OF  MT  OWN  MIND.* 

1.  To  a  Butterfly. 

2.  '  The  sun  has  long  been  set.' 

3.  '  O  Nightingale  !  thou  surely  art.' 

4.  '  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold.' 

5.  Written  in  March  while  resting  on  the  Bridge  at  the  foot  of 

Brother's  Water. 

6.  The  small  Celandine. 

7.  '  I  wandered  lonely  as  a  cloud.' 

8.  '  Who  fancied  what  a  pretty  sight. 

9.  The  Sparrow's  Nest. 

10.  Gipsies. 

11.  To  the  Cuckoo. 

12.  To  a  Butterfly. 

*  [This  may  be  noticed  as  the  first  intimation  of  the  j^ilosophi- 
ca%classification  of  the  Poems,  which  has  become  familiar  in  the 
later  Editions.  —  h.  b.] 

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nV  *  POBMS  Ilf  TWO  ▼OUIHSS,^ 

oalM  for.  His  pootioai  reputaition  was,  therefore,  making 
»me  progress.  He  had  few,  hut  ardeat,  admirers;  oii 
the  oUier  hand,  he  had  many  powerful  eaemiea.  The^ 
▼itality  of  his  fame  provoked  their  hostility.  If  the 
^  Lyrical  Ballads  ^  had  silently  cwmk  into  oblivion,  die  ac* 
rimony  of  these  critics  would  not  h»ve  been  excited,  or^  if 
excited,  would  soon  have  subsided.  But  they  were  irri- 
tated by  the  energy  of  that  which  they  despised.  Their 
own  character  for  critical  acumen  seemed  to  be  at  stake  ; 

The  Blind  Highland  Boy. 

The  Green  Linnet. 

To  a  Young  Lady  who  had  been  reproached  for  taking  liMig 
walks  in  the  Coantry. 

'  By  their  floating  mill/  6cc. 

Stargazers. 

Power  of  Music 

To  the  Daisy.    '  With  little  here  to  do  or  see.' 

To  the  same  Flower.  *  Bright  flower  whose  home  is.  every- 
where ! ' 

Licident  characteristic  of  a  favourite  Dog  which  belonged 
to  a  friend  of  the  Author. 

Tribute  to  the  memory  of  the  same  Dog. 

Sonnet.    '  Yes,  there  is  holy  pleasure  in  thine  eye ! ' 

Sonnet.    '  Though  narrow  be  that  old  man's  cares/  dec. 

Sonnet.    '  High  deeds,  O  Germans,  are  to  come  fcom  you.' 

Sonnet  to  Thomas  Clarkson. 

'  Once  in  a  lonely  hamlet/  dec. 

Foresight. 

A  Complaint. 

'  I  am  not  one/  dec. 

*  Yes !  full  surely  Hwas  the  Echo/  dec. 

To  the  Spade  of  a  Friend. 

Song,  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle. 

Lines  composed  at  Grasmere. 

Elegiac  Stanzas. 

Ode. 

Notes.  *" 

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aad  they  conspired  to  crush  a  reputatkm  whose  exiat6iMMi» 
was  a  practical  protest  against  ^eir  own  litbiiary  principles 
and  practice,  and  which  doubtless  appeared  to  them  to^be 
fraught  with  pernicious  consequences  to  the  dignity  of 
English  literature,  and  the  progress  of  English  intelli- 
gence. It  would  be  an  invidious  task  to  specify  the  crtt« 
icisms  of  a  vituperative  kind,  by  which  these  poems  werv 
assailed.  It  is  more  honourable  to  Mr.  Wordsworth  that  m 
general  amnesty  should  now  be  proclaimed  in  his  name*. 
Let,  therefore,  the  memory  of  all  personal  animositiea  ba' 
buried  in  his  grave.  But  the  fact  that  he  had  to  stataim 
such  obloquy,  ^  and  that  he  lived  to  overcome  it^  is  for  toa 
iBStructive  to  be  forgotten..  It  is  of  inestimable  value  to 
critics,  writers,  and  readers.  It  should-  serve  to  smooth: 
^e  asperity,  and  temper  the  conddi^nce,  of  ciitics.  It 
ought  to  chasten  the  pride  of  literary  men  who  may  be 
elated  by  contemporary  applause ;  and,  on  the  othev  hand^ 
k  may  serve  to  cheer  the  sadnesS'  of  those  merilbriouft 
labourers  who,  although  toiling  honourably  in  the  canse  of 
truth,  are  requited  only  by  censure.  It  ouj^t^  to  guard  all,, 
readers  as  well  as  writers,  against  placing  too  much  coo^ 
fidence   in   contemporary  opinionsi     *  Vworum  ceTtaura 

difficiliS^^    ufiiQapi*  iniXotnot  fiuQTVQ9g  tfo^uTOTM. 

For  many  years,  Mr.  Wordsworth's  name  was  averhunj^ 
with  clouds,  but  at  length  it  emerged  ^m  them  into  eleais 
sunshine^  He  lived  and  wrote  with  full  confidence  thaC 
such  wou]^  eventually  be  the  case  ;  and,  since  he  did  not 
write  for  earthly  fame,  he  maintained  his  equanimity  ior 
all  weathers. 

A  letter  written  in  the  yeav  1807,  to  Lady  Beanmont, 

'The  effect  of  these  strictures  in  checking  the  sale  of  the  FoemflT 
was  such|  that  no  edition  of  them  was  required  betweea  1807  and 
1815. 

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9M  *  POBXt  IM  TWO  TOfrVMBS,* 

on  the  publication  of  his  poems,  expieases  his  sentiftieniB 
at  that  time,  and  cannot  fail  to  be  read  with  deep  interest : 

«C»20ortMi,3rar21,  1807. 
*•  M7  dear  Lady  Beaumont, 

*  Though  I  am  to  see  you  so  soon,  I  cannot  but  write  a 
word  or  two,  to  thank  you  for  the  interest  you  take  in  my 
poems,  as  evinced  by  your  solicitude  about  their  imme- 
diate reception.  I  write  partly  to  thank  you  for  this,  and 
to  express  the  pleasure  it  has  given  me,  and  partly  to 
remove  any  uneasiness  from  your  mind  which  the  disap- 
pointments  you  sometimes  meet  with,  in  this  labour  of  love, 
may  occasion.  I  see  that  you  have  many  battles  to  fight 
for  me, — more  than,  in  the  ardour  and  confidence  of  your 
pure  and  elevated  pind,  you  had  ever  thought  of  being 
summoned  to  ;  but  be  assured  that  this  opposition  is  noth- 
ing more  than  what  I  distincdy  foresaw  that  you  and  my 
ether  friends  would  have  to  encounter.  I  say  this,  not  to 
give  myself  credit  for  an  eye  of  prophecy,  but  to  allay 
any  vexatious  thoughts  on  my  account  which  this  opposi*> 
tioQ  may  have  pfoduced  in  you. 

*It  is  impossible  that  any  expectations  can  be  lower 
than  mine  concerning  the  inunediate  effect  of  this  little 
work  upon  what  is  called  the  public.  I  do  not  here  take 
into  consideration  the  envy  and  malevolence,  and  all  the 
bad  passions  which  always  stand  in  the  way  of  a  work  of 
any  merit  from  a  living  poet;  but  merely  think  of  the 
pure,  absolute,  honest  ignorance  in  which  all  worldlings  of 
every  rank  and  situation  must  be  enveloped,  with  respect 
to  the  thoughts,  feelings,  and  images,  on  which  the  life  of 
my  poems  depends.  The  things  which  I  have  taken, 
whether  from  within  or  without,  what  have  they  to  do  with 
touts,  dinners,  morning  calls,  hurry  from  door  to  door, 
from  street  to  street,  on  foot  or  in  carriage ;  with  Mr.  Pitt 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


TVMLiswmD  IK  iitr»  888 

€»r  Mr.  Fox,  Ut.  Paul  or  Sir  Francis  Burdett,  the  Wart* 
minster  election  or  the  borough  of  Honiton  ?  In  a  word 
— for  I  cannot  stop  to  make  my  way  through  the  hurry  of 
images  that  present  themselves  to  me  —  what  have  they 
to  do  with  endless  talking  about  things  nobody  cares  any 
tiling  for  except  as  far  as  their  own  vanity  is  concerned,  and 
this  with  persons  they  care  nothing  for  but  as  their  vaniQr 
of  selfishness  is  concerned  ?  —  what  have  they  to  do  (to  say 
all  at  once)  with  a  life  without  love  ?  In  such  a  life  there 
can  be^  no  thought ;  for  we  have  no  thought  (save  thoughts 
of  pain)  but  as  far  as  we  have  love  and  admiration. 

^  It  is  an  awful  truth,  that  there  neither  is,  nor  can  be, 
fuiy  genuine  enjoyment  of  poetry  among  nineteen  out  of 
twenty  of  those  persons  who  live,  or  wish  to  live,  in  the 
broad  light  of  the  world  —  among  those  who  either  are, 
or  are  striving  to  make  themselves,  people  of  conKdeniF 
tion  in  society.  This  is  a  truth,  and  an  awful  one,  because 
to  be  incapable  of  a  feeling  of  poetry,  in  my  sense  of  the 
tford,  is  to  be  without  love  of  human  nature  and  reverence 
for  God. 

^  Upon  this  I  shall  insist  elsewhere ;  at  present  let  me 
confine  myself  to  my  object,  which  is  to  make  you,  my 
dear  friend,  as  easy-hearted  as  myself  with  respect  to 
these  poems.  Trouble  not  yourself  upon  their  present 
reception  ;  of  what  moment  is  that  compared  with  what  I 
trust  is  their  destiny  ?  —  to  console  the  afflicted,  to  add 
sunshine  to  daylight,  by  making  the  happy  happier ;  to 
teach  the  young  and  the  gracious  of  every  age  to  see,  to 
think,  and  feel,  and  therefore,  to  become  more  actively 
and  securely  virtuous ;  this  is  their  office,  which  I  trust 
they  will  faithfully  perform,  long  after  we  (that  is,  all  that 
is  mortal  of  us)  are  mouldered  in  our  graves.  I  am  well 
aware  how  far  it  would  seem  to  many  I  overrate  my  own 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ'C 


4H  *P0BX8  nr  two  vocvkbs,' 

•exertions,  when  1  speak  in  tkis  way,  in  direct  connection 
with  the  volume  I  have  just  made  public. 

*  I  am  not,  however,  afraid  of  such  censure,  insig- 
nificant as  probably  the  majority  of  those  poems  wonld 
appear  to  very  respectable  persons.  I  do  not  mean  Lon*- 
don  wits  and  witlings,  for  these  have  too  many  foul  pas- 
sions about  them  to  be  respectable,  even  if  they  had  more 
intellect  than  the  benign  laws  of  Providence  will  allow 
to  such  a  heartless  existence  as  theirs  is;  but  grave, 
kindly*natured,  worthy  persons,  who  would  be  pleased  if 
they  could.  I  hope  that  these  volumes  are  not  without 
some  recommendations,  even  for  readers  of  this  class: 
but  their  imagination  has  slept ;  and  the  voice  which  is 
^  voice  of  my  poetry,  without  imagination,  cannot  be 
heard.     Leaving  these,  1  was  going  to  say  a  word  to  such 

readers  as  Mr. .     Such !  —  how  would  he  be  offended 

if  he  knew  I  considered  him  only  as  a  representative  of 

a  class,  and  not  an  unique !   *'  Pity,''  says  Mr. ,  "  that 

so  many  trifling  things  should  be  admitted  to  obstruct 
the  view  of  those  that  have  merit."  Now,  let  this  candid 
judge,  take,  by  way  of  example,  the  sonnets,  which,  prob- 
ably, with  the  exception  of  two  or  three  other  poems, 
for  which  I  will  not  contend,  appear  to  him  the  most 
trifling,  as  they  are  the  shortest.  I  would  say  to  hira, 
omitting  things  of  higher  consideration,  there  is  one  thing 
which  must  strike  you  at  once,  if  you  will  only  read  these 
poems,  —  that  those  to  "  Liberty,"  at  least,  have  a  connec- 
tion with,  or  a  bearing  upon  each  other ;  and,  therefore, 
if  individually  they  want  weight,  perhaps,  as  a  body, 
they  may  not  be  so  deficient.  At  least,  this  ought  to 
induce  you  to  suspend  your  judgment,  and  qualify  it  so 
far  as  to  allow  that  the  writer  aims  at  least  at  comprehen- 
siveness. 

*  But  dropping  this,  I  would  boldly  say  at  once,  that 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


FDBLiSBSD  ISr   IMT.  JHB 

these  sDiuiels,  while  tbey  each  fix  the  attentimi  upon  woate 
important  sentiment,  separately  considered,  do  at  the  same 
time,  collectively  make  a  poem  on  the  subject  of  civil 
liber^  and  national  independence,  which,  either  for  sim- 
plicity of  style  or  grandeur  of  moral  sentiment,  is,  alas! 
likely  to  have  few  parallels  in  the  poetry  of  the  present  day. 
Again,  turn  to  the  ^'  Moods  of  my  own  Mind/^  There  is 
scarcely  a  poem  here  of  above  thirty  lines,  and  very  trifling 
these  poems  will  appear  to  many  ;  but,  omitting  to  speak 
of  them  individually,  do  they  not,  taken  collectively,  fix 
the  attention  upon  a  subject  eminently  poetical,  viz.,  the 
interest  which  objects  in  nature  derive  from  the  predomi- 
nance of  certain  affections,  more  or  less  permanent,  more 
or  less  capable  of  salutary  renewal  in  the  mind  of  the 
being  contemplating  these  objects  ?  This  is  poetic,  and 
essentially  poetic.     And  why  ?     Because  it  is  creative. 

^  But  I  am  wasting  words,  for  it  is  nothing  more  than 
you  know  ;  and  if  said  to  those  for  whom  it  is  intended, 
it  would  not  be  understood. 

'  I  see  by  your  last  letter,  that  Mrs.  Fermor  has  entered 
into  the  spirit  of  these  "  Moods  of  my  own  Mind."  Your 
transcript  from  her  letter  gave  me  the  greatest  pleasure  ; 
but  I  must  say  that  even  she  has  something  yet  to  receive 
from  me.  I  say  this  with  confidence,  from  her  thinking 
that  I  have  fallen  below  myself  in  the  sonnet,  beginning, 

"  With  ships  the  sea  was  sprinkled  far  and  nigh.'' 

As  to  the  other  which  she  objects  to,  I  will  only  observe, 
that  there  is  a  misprint  in  the  last  line  but  two, 

'  And  though  this  wilderness/ 
for 

'  And  through  this  wilderness/ 

that  makes  it  unintelligible.     This  latter  sonnet,  for  many 

Digitized  by  CjOOQ  IC 


^rOBMt  Uf  TWO  TOUnCBS,* 

I  (though  I  do  not  abandon  it),  I  will  not  now  speak 
of;  but  upon  the  other,  I  could  say  something  important 
in  conversation,  and  will  attempt  now  to  illustrate  it  by 
a  comment,  which,  I  feel,  will  be  inadequate  to  convey 
my  meaning.  There  is  scarcely  one  of  my  poems  which 
does  not  aim  to  direct  the  attention  to  some  moral  senti- 
ment, or  to  some  general  principle,  or  law  of  thought,  or 
of  our  intellectual  constitution.  For  instance,  in  the  pres- 
ent case,  who  is  there  that  has  not  felt  that  the  mind  can 
have  no  rest  among  a  multitude  of  objects,  of  which  it 
either  cannot  make  one  whole,  or  from  which  it  cannot 
single  out  one  individual,  whereupon  may  be  ccHicentrated 
the  attention,  divided  among  or  distracted  by  a  multitude  ? 
Afler  a  certain  time,  we  must  either  select  one  image  or 
object,  which  must  put  out  of  view  the  rest  wholly,  or  must 
subordinate  them  to  itself  while  it  stands  forth  as  a  head : 

"  How  glowed  the  firmament 
With  living  sapphires!    Hesperos,  that  led 
The  stany  host,  rode  brightest ;  till  the  moon, 
Bising  in  clouded  majesty,  at  length, 
Apparent  Queen,  unveiled  her  peerless  light, 
And  o^er  the  dark  her  silver  mantle  threw." 

Having  laid  this  down  as  a  general  principle,  take  the 
case  before  us.  I  am  represented  in  the  sonnet  as  casting 
my  eyes  over  the  sea,  sprinkled  with  a  multitude  of  ships, 
like  the  heavens  with  stars.  My  mind  may  be  supposed 
to  float  up  and  down  among  them,  in  a  kind  of  dreamy 
indifference  with  respect  either  to  this  or  that  one,  only 
in  a  pleasurable  state  of  feeling  with  respect  to  the  whole 
prospect.  "  Joyously  it  showed.''  This  continued  till  that 
feeling  may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  away,  and  a  kind 
of  comparative  listlessness  or  apathy  to  have  succeeded, 
as  at  this  line, 

**  Some  veering  np  and  down,  one  knew  not  why." 

Digitized  byCjOOQlC 


PI7BI.ISBSD  m  l^W,  SST 

Ali^  at  once,  while  I  am  in  this  state,  comes  f4»th  an  olijedt, 
•n  individual  ;  and  ray  mind,  sleepy  and  unfixed,  is 
awakened  and  fastened  in  a  moment. 

"  HesperaS;  that  led 
^  'J^he  starry  host " 

is  a  poetical  object,  because  the  glory  of  his  own  nature 
gives  him  the  pre-eminence  the  moment  he  appears.  He 
calls  forth  the  poetic  faculty,  receiving  its  exertions  as  a 
tribute.  But  this  ship  in  the  sonnet  may,  in  a  manner  still 
more  appropriate,  be  said  to  come  upon  a  mission  of  the 
poetic  spirit,  because,  in  its  own  appearance  and  attributes, 
it  is  barely  sufficiently  distinguished  to  rouse  the  creative 
faculty  of  the  human  mind,  to  exertions  at  all  times  wel- 
come, but  doubly  so  when  they  come  upon  us  when  in  a 
state  of  remissness.  The  mind  being  once  fixed  and 
toused,  all  the  rest  comes  from  itself;  it  is  merely  a  lordly 
ship,  nothing  more : 

"  This  ship  was  nought  to  me,  nor  I  to  her, 
Yet  I  pursued  her  with  a  lover's  look." 

My  mind  wantons  with  grateful  joy  in  the  exercise  of  its 
own  powers,  and,  loving  its  own  creation, 

"  This  ship  to  all  the  rest  I  did  prefer," 

making  her  a  sovereign  or  a  regent,  and  thus  giving  body 
and  life  to  all  the  rest ;  mingling  up  this  idea  with  fond- 
ness and  praise  — 

*'  Where  she  comes  the  winds  must  stir ;  " 
and  concluding  the  whole  with, 

"  On  went  she,  and  due  north  her  journey  took ; "  * 

♦  [As  the  Poet  has  here  connected  references  to  the  impressions 
on  the  minds  of  his  readers  with  his  own  explanatory  comment, 

YOL  I.  2a 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


*POBMS  IN  TWO   TOLVMES/ 

tiiuB  taking  up  again  the  reader  witfi  whom  I  began,  let- 
tmg  him  know  how  long  1  must  have  watched  this  favour- 
ite vessel,  and  inviting  him  to  rest  his  mind  as  mine  i» 
resting. 

^  Having  said  so  much  upon  mere  fourteen  lines,  which 
Mrs.  Fermor  did  not  approve,  I  cannot  but  add  a  word  or 
two  upon  my  satisfaction  in  finding  that  my  mind  has  so 
much  in  common  with  hers,  and  that  we  participate  so 
many  of  each  other^s  pleasures.  '  I  collect  this  from  her 
having  singled  out  the  two  little  poems,  ^^  The  Daffodils,'* 
and  "  The  Rock  crowned  with  Snowdrops."  I  am .  sure 
that  whoever  is  much  pleased  with  either  of  these  quiet 
and  tender  delineations  must  be  fitted  to  walk  through  the 
recesses  of  my  poetry  with  delight,  and  will  there  recog- 
nise, at  every  turn,  something  or  other  in  which,  and  over 
which,  it  has  that  property  and  right  which  knowledge  and 
love  confer.     The  line, 

"  Come,  blessed  barrier,"  Ace, 

in  the  "  Sonnet  upon  Sleep,"  which  Mrs.  F.  points  out, 
had  before  been  mentioned  to  me  by  Coleridge,  and, 
indeed,  by  almost  everybody  who  had  heard  it,  as  emi- 
nently beautiful.  My  letter  (as  this  second  sheet,  which  I 
am  obliged  to  take,  admonishes  me)  is  growing  to  an 

it  will,  perhaps,  be  not  impertinent  to  add  that  it  has  always  seemed 
to  me  that  the  last  line  of  this  sonnet  is  excellent  in  both  the  scope 
and  impulse  it  gives  to  the  imagination ;  a  sense  of  distant  and 
boundless  space,  partaking  of  infinity,  is  awakened  by  the  words 
'  due  north,*  as  the  ship  passes  out  of  sight.  It  was  something  of 
the  same  feeling  which  gave  a  charm,  in  the  minds  of  Wordsworth 
and  of  his  sister,  to  the  greeting  —  *  What,  you  are  stepping  west- 
ward ? '  which  was  addressed  to  them  when  walking  by  the  side  of 
Loch  Katrine :-  see  the  stanzas  *  Stepping  Wettward,*  also  aonong 
the  poems  published  in  1807.  —  h.  r.] 

Digitized  by  VjOOQ  IC 


FITBLISHED    IN    1807. 

enormous  length ;  and  yet,  saving'  that  I  have  expressed 
my  calm  confidence  that  these  poems  will  live,  I  have  said 
nothing  which  has  a  particular  application  to  the  object  of 
it,  which  was  to  remove  all  disquiet  from  your  mind  on 
account  of  the  condemnation  they  may  at  present  incur 
from  that  portion  of  my  contemporaries  who  are  called  the 
public.  I  am  sure,  my  dear  Lady  Beaumont,  if  you  attach 
any  importance  to  it,  it  can  only  be  from  an  apprehension 
that  it  may  afiect  me,  upon  which  I  have  already  set  you  at 
ease ;  or  from  a  fear  that  this  present  blame  is  ominous  of 
their  fbture  or  final  dedtiny.  If  this  be  the  case,  your  ten- 
demess  for  me  betrays  you.  Be  assured  that  the  decision 
of  these  persons  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  question ;  thej 
are  altogether  incompetent  judges.  These  people,  in  the 
senseless  hurry  of  their  idle  lives,  do  not  read  books,  they 
merely  snatch  a  glance  at  them,  that  they  may  talk  about 
them.  And  even  if  this  were  not  so,  never  forget  what,  I 
believe,  was  observed  to  you  by  Coleridge,  that  every 
great  and  original  writer,  in  proportion  as  he  is  great  or 
original,  must  Jiimself  create  the  taste  by  which  he  is  to  be 
relished ;  he  must  teach  the  art  by  which  he  is  to  be  seen ; 
this,  in  a  certain  degree,  even  to  all  persons,  however  wise 
and  pure  may  be  their  lives,  and  however  unvitiated  their 
taste.  But  for  those  who  dip  into  books  in  order  to  give 
an  opinion  of  them,  or  talk  about  them  to  take  up  an 
opinion  —  for  this  multitude  of  unhappy,  and  misguided, 
and  misguiding  beings,  an  entire  regeneration  must  be  pro- 
duced ;  and  if  this  be  possible,  it  must  be  a  work  of  time. 
To  conclude,  my  ears  are  stone-dead  to  this  idle  buzz,  and 
my  flesh  as  insensible  as  iron  to  these  petty  stings ;  and, 
after  what  I  have  said,  I  am  sure  yours  will  be  the  same. 
I  doubt  not  that  you  will  share  with  me  an  invincible  con- 
fidence that  my  writings  (and  among  them  these,  little 
poems)  will  <;o-operate  with  the  benign:  tendencies  in 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


840  *  POBK8   IM  TWO  TOLVVES,^ 

human  nature  and  society,  wherever  found ;  and  that  they 
will,  in  their  de  gree,  he  efficacious  in  making  men  wiser, 
hetter,  and  happier.  Farewell !  I  will  not  apologize  for 
this  letter,  though  its  length  demands  an  apology.  Believe 
me,  eagerly  wishing  for  the  happy  day  when  I  shall  see 
you  and  Sir  George  here, 

^  Most  affectionately  yours, 

*  W.  WOBDSWOBTH. 

*  Do  not  hurry  your  coming  hither  oa  our  account :  my 
sister  regrets  that  she  did  not  press  this  upon  you,  as  you 
say  in  your  letter,  *'  we  cannot  possibly  come  before  the 
first  week  in  June ; "  from  which  we  infer  that  your  kind- 
ness will  induce  you  to  make  sacrifices  for  our  sakes. 
Whatever  pleasure  we  may  have  in  thinking  of  Grasmere, 
we  have  no  impatience  to  be  gone,  and  think  with  full  as 
much  regret  of  leaving  Coleorton.  I  had,  for  myself, 
indeed,  a  wish  to  be  at  Grasmere  with  as  much  of  the  sum- 
mer before  me  as  might  be  ;  but  to  this  I  attach  no  impor- 
tance whatever,  as  far  as  the  gratificatiou  of  that  wish 
interferes  with  any  inclination  or  duty  of  yours.  I  could 
not  be  satisfied  without  seeing  you  here,  and  shall  have 
great  pleasure  in  waiting.' 

Another  letter  may  be  inserted  here : 

*  My  dear  Sir  George, 

*  1  am  quite  delighted  to  hear  of  your  picture  for  "  Peter 
Bell ; "  I  was  much  pleased  with  the  sketch,  and  1  have 
no  doubt  that  the  picture  will  surpass  it  as  far  as  a  picture 
ought  to  do.  I  long  much  to  see  it.  I  should  approve  of 
any  engraver  approved  by  you.  But  remember  that  no 
poem  of  mine  will  ever  be  popular ;  and  I  am  afraid  that 
the  sale  of  "  Peter  "  would  not  carry  the  expense  of  the 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


FITBLISBBD  IN  180r.  841 

engraving,  and  that  the  poem,  in  the  estimation  of  the 
public,  would  be  a  weight  upon  the  print.  I  say  not  this 
in  modest  disparagement  of  the  poem,  but  in  sorrow  for 
•the  sickly  taste  of  the  public  in  verse.  The  people  would 
love  the  poem  of  "  Peter  Bell,"  but  the  public  (a  very 
different  being)  will  never  love  it  Thanks  for  dear  Lady 
B.'s  transcript  from  your  friend's  letter  ;  it  is  written  with 
candour,  but  I  must  say  a  word  or  two  not  in  praise  of  it. 
"  Instances  of  what  I  mean,"  says  your  friend,  •'  are  to  be 
found  in  a  poem  on  a  Daisy,"  (by  the  by,  it  is  on  the 
Daisy,  a  mighty  difference !)  ^'  and  on  Daffodils  reflected 
in  the  Watery  Is  this  accurately  transcribed  by  Lady 
Beaumont  ?  If  it  be,  what  shall  we  think  of  criticism  or 
judgment  founded  upon,  and  exemplified  by,  a  poem  which 
must  have  been  so  inattentively  perused  ?  My  language 
is  precise ;  and,  therefore,  it  would  be  false  modesty  to 
charge  myself  with  blame. 

"  Beneath  the  trees, 
Ten  thousand  dancing  in  the  breeze. 
The  waves  beside  them  danced,  but  they 
Outdid  the  sparkling  waves  in  glee." 

Can  expression  be  more  distinct  ?  And  let  me  ask  your 
friend  how  it  is  possible  for  flowers  to  be  reflected  in  water 
where  there  are  waves  7  They  may,  indeed,  in  still  water ; 
but  the  very  object  of  my  poem  is  the  trouble  or  agitation, 
both  of  the  flowers  and  the  water.  I  must  needs  respect 
the  understanding  of  every  one  honoured  by  your  friend- 
ship; but  sincerity  compels  me  to  say  that  my  poems 
must  be  more  nearly  looked  at,  before  they  can  give  rise 
to  any  remarks  of  much  value,  even  from  the  strongest 
minds.  With  respect  to  this  individual  poem.  Lady  B. 
will  recollect  how  Mrs.  Fermor  expressed  herself  upon  it. 
A  letter  also  was  sent  to  me,  addressed  to  a  friend  of 
mine,  and  by  him  communicated  to  me,  in  which  this 

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Ml 

identical  poem  was  singled  out  for  fervent  appn^bation* 
What  then  shall  we  say  ?  Why,  let  the  poet  iiist  consult 
his  own  heart,  as  I  have  done,  and  leave  the  rest  to  poster- 
Ity,  — •  to,  1  hope,  an  improving  posterity.  The  fact  is,  the 
English  public  are  at  this  moment  in  the  same  state  of 
mind  with  respect  to  my  poems,  if  small  things  may  be 
oompared  with  great,  as  the  French  are  in  respect  to 
Shakspeare,  and  not  the  French  alone,  but  almost  the 
whole  continent  In  short,  in  your  friend^s  letter,  I  am 
condemned  for  the  very  thing  for  which  I  ought  to  have 
been  praised,  viz.,  that  I  have  not  written  down  to  the 
level  of  superficial  observers  and  unthinking  minds.  Every 
great  poet  is  a  teacher :  I  wish  either  to  be  considered  as 
a  teacher,  or  as  nothing. 

*  To  turn  to  a  more  pleasing  subject.  Have  you  painted 
anything  else  beside  this  picture  from  "  Peter  Bell  ?  " 
Your  two  oil-paintings  (and,  indeed,  everjrthing  I  have  of 
yours)  have  been  much  admired  by  the  artists  who  have 
seen  them.  And,  for  our  own  parts,  we  like  them  better 
every  day  ;  this,  in  particular,  is  the  case  with  the  small 
picture  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Coleorton,  which,  indeed, 
pleased  me  much  at  the  iirst  sight,  but  less  impressed  the 
rest  of  our  household,  who  now  see  as  many  beauties  in  it 
as  I  do  myself.  Havill,  the  water-colour  painter,  was  much 
pleased  with  these  things;  he  is  painting  at  Ambleside, 
and  has  done  a  view  of  Rydal  Water,  looking  down  upon 
it  from  Rydal  Park,  of  which  I  should  like  to  know  your 
opinion ;  it  will  be  exhibited  in  the  spring,  in  the  water- 
colour  Exhibition. 

I  have  purchased  a  black-lead  pencil  sketch  of  Mr. 
Green,  of  Ambleside,  which,  I  think,  has  great  merit,  the 
materials  being  uncommonly  picturesque,  and  well  put 
together :  I  should  dearly  like  to  have  the  same  subject 
(it  is  the  cottage  at  Glencoign,  by  Ulleswater)  treated  by 

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PUBLISHED   IN    1307.  848 

you.  In  the  poem  I  have  just  written,  you  will  find  one 
situation  which,  if  the  work  should  ever  hecome  familiarly 
known,  would  furnish  as  fine  a  subject  for  a  picture  as 
anything  I  remember  in  poetry  ancient  or  modem.  I  need 
not  mention  what  it  is,  as  when  you  read  the  poem  you 
cannot  miss  it.  We  have  at  last  had,  by  the  same  post, 
two  letters  from  Coleridge,  long  and  melancholy ;  and 
also,  from  Keswick,  an  account  so  depressing  as  to  the 
state  of  his  health,  that  I  should  have  set  off  immediately 
to  London,  to  see  him,  if  I  had  not  myself  been  confined 
by  indisposition. 

*  1  hope  that  Davy  is  by  this  time  perfectly  restored  to 
health.     Believe  me,  my  dear  Sir  George, 

'  Most  sincerely  yours, 

'  W.  WORDSWOETH.' 


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CHAPTER   XXVI. 

WOBDSWORTH   AT   COLEOBTON. 

*I  AM  now,'  says  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  Mr.  Wranghara, 
November  7,  1806,  *  with  my  family  at  Coleorton,  near 
Ashby-de-la-Zouch,  Leicestershire,  occupying  a  house, 
for  the  winter,  of  Sir  George  Beau  months ;  our  own  cottage 
at  Grasmere  being  far  too  small  for  our  family  to  winter 
in,  though  we  manage  well  enough  in  it  during  the  sum- 
mer/ 

Sir  George  Beaumont  was  now  engaged  in  rebuilding 
the  Hall  and  laying  out  the  grounds  at  Coleorton,  and  this 
circumstance  gave  occasion  to  frequent. communications 
between  him  and  Mr.  Wordsworth  on  the  principles  of 
beauty  in  Houses,  Parks,  and  Gardens.  The  following 
letter,  written  by  Wordsworth  before  he  came  to  Coleorton, 
is  an  interesting  specimen  of  this  correspondence,  and 
serves  to  show  how  the  same  elements  which  produce 
what  is  graceful  in  poetry  are  the  cause  of  beauty  in  other 
kindred  arts,  and  that  there  are  certain  elemental  laws  of 
a  prima  philosophia  (as  it  has  been  called)  which  are  of 
general  application.  On  a  knowledge  and  careful  study 
of  these  laws  all  true  taste  in  the  arts  must  rest.  And  it 
may  be  of  service,  even  to  those  who  are  professionally 
most  conversant  with  the  practical  details  of  art,  to  have 
their  attention  called  to  these  primary  principles,  without 
which,  all  technical  dexterity  is  little  better  than  mere 
superficial  sciolism.      The  principles  laid  do^n  in  this 

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WORDSWORTH   AT   COLEORTON.  845 

letter  may  also  be  commended  to  the   attention  of  the 
English  gentry  and  aristocracy. 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont^  Bart. 

^Grasmere,  Oct,  17,  1805. 
*  My  dear  Sir  George, 

*  I  was  very  glad  to  learn  that  you  had  room  for  me  at 
Coleorton,  and  far  more  so,  that  your  health  was  so  much 
mended.  Lady  Beaumont's  last  letter  to  my  sister  has 
made  us  wish  that  you  were  fairly  through  your  present 
engagements  with  workmen  and  builders,  and,  as  to  im- 
provements, had  smoothed  over  the  first  difficulties,  and 
gotten  things  into  a  way  of  improving  themselves.  I  do 
not  suppose  that  any  man  ever  built  a  ^house,  without  find* 
ing  in  the  progress  of  it  obstacles  that  were  unforeseen, 
and  something  that  might  have  been  better  planned; 
things  teasing  and  vexatious  when  they  come,  however 
the  mind  may  have  been  made  up  at  the  outset  to  a  gen^ 
eral  expectation  of  the  kind. 

'With  respect  to  the  grounds,  you  have  there  the 
advantage  of  being  in  good  hands,  namely,  those  of 
Nature  ;  and,  assuredly,  whatever  petty  crosses  from  con- 
trariety of  opinion  or  any  other  cause  you  may  now  meet 
with,  these  will  soon  disappear,  and  leave  nothing  behind 
but  satisfaction  and  harmony.  Setting  out  from  the  dis* 
tinction  made  by  Coleridge  which  you  mention,  that  your 
house  will  belong  to  the  country,  and  not  the  country  be 
an  appendage  to  your  house,  you  cannot  be  wrong.  In* 
deed,  in  the  present  state  of  society,  I  see  nothing  inter- 
esting either  to  the  imagination  or  the  heart,  and,  of 
course,  nothing  which  true  taste  can  approve,  in  any 
interference  with  Nature,  grounded  upon  any  other  prin* 
dple.    In  times  when  the  feudal  system  was  in  its  vigour. 

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MS  W0B06W0BTH  AT  CObBOETON* 

and  the  personal  importance  of  every  chieftain  might  be 
said  to  depend  entirely  upon  the  extent  of  his  landed 
property  and  rights  of  seignory ;  when  the  king,  in  the 
habits  of  people's  minds,  was  considered  as  the  primary 
and  true  proprietor  of  the  soil,  which  was  granted  out  by 
him  to  different  lords,  and  again  by  them  to  their  several 
tenants  under  them,  for  the  joint  defence  of  all ;  there 
might  have  been  something  imposing  to  the  imagination 
in  the  whole  face  of  a  district,  testifying,  obtrusively  even, 
its  dependence  upon  its  chief.  Such  an  image  would 
have  been  in  the  spirit  of  the  society,  implying  power, 
grandeur,  military  state,  and  security ;  and,  less  directly, 
in  the  person  of  the  chief,  high  birth,  and  knightly  educa* 
tion  and  accomplishments ;  in  short,  the  most  of  what  was 
then  deemed  interesting  or  affecting.  Yet,  with  the  ex« 
ception  of  large  parks  and  forests,  nothing  of  this  kind 
was  known  at  that  time,  and  these  were  left  in  their  wild 
state,  so  that  such  display  of  ownership,  so  far  from  taking 
from  the  beauty  of  Nature,  was  itself  a  chief  cause  of 
that  beauty  being  left  unspoiled  and  unimpaired.  The 
improvements y  when  the  place  was  sufficiently  tranquil  to 
admit  of  any,  though  absurd  and  monstrous  in  themselves^ 
were  confined  (as  our  present  laureate  has  observed,  I 
remember,  in  one  of  his  essays)  to  an  acre  or  two  about 
the  house  in  the  shape  of  garden  with  terraces,  &c.  So 
that  Nature  had  greatly  the  advantage  in  those  days,  when 
what  has  been  called  English  gardening  was  unheard  of. 
This  is  now  beginning  to  be  perceived,  and  we  are  setting 
out  to  travel  backwards.  Painters  and  poets  have  had 
the  credit  of  being  reckoned  the  fathers  of  English  gar- 
dening ;  they  will  also  have,  hereafter,  the  better  praise 
of  being  fathers  of  a  better  taste.  It  was  a  misconception 
of  the  meaning  and  principles  of  poets  and  painters  which 
gave  countenance  to  the  modern  system  of  gardening. 

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WOUMiWOBTH  AT  COhZOVtOV*  847 

wfaicb  is  now,  I  hope,  on  the  decline ;  in  other  words,  we 
are  submitting  to  the  rule  which  you  at  present  are  guided 
l>y,  that  of  having  our  houses  belonging  to  the  country, 
which  will  of  course  lead  us  back  to  the  simplicity  of 
Nature.  And  leaving  your  own  individual  sentiments  and 
present  work  out  of  the  question,  what  good  can  come  of 
any  other  guide,  under  any  circumstances?  We  have, 
indeed,  distinctions  of  rank,  hereditary  legislators,  and 
large  landed  proprietors ;  but  from  numberless  causes  the 
Btate  of  society  is  so  much  altered,  that  nothing  of  that 
lofty  or  imposing  interest,  formerly  attached  to  large 
property  in  land,  can  now  exist;  none  of  the  poetic 
pride,  and  pomp,  and  circumstance ;  nor  anything  that 
can  be  considered  as  making  amends  for  violation  done  to 
the  holiness  of  Nature.  Let  us  take  an  extreme  case, 
such  as  a  residence  of  a  Duke  of  Norfolk,  or  Northum* 
beiiand :  of  course  you  would  expect  a  mansion,  in  some 
degree  answerable  to  their  consequence,  with  all  conve- 
niences. The  names  of  Howard  and  Percy  will  always 
stand  high  in  the  regards  of  Englishmen ;  but  it  is 
degrading,  not  only  to  such  families  as  these,  but  to  every 
really  interesting  one,  to  suppose  that  their  importance 
will  be  most  felt  where  most  displayed,  particularly  in  the 
way  I  am  now  alluding  to.  .  Besides,  as  to  what  concerns 
the  past,  a  man  would  be  sadly  astray,  who  should  go,  for 
example,  to  modernize  Alnwick  and  its  dependencies,  with 
his  head  full  of  the  ancient  Percies :  he  would  find  nothing 
^ere  wliich  would  remind  him  of  them,  except  by  con- 
trast ;  and  of  that  kind  of  admonition  he  would,  indeed, 
have  enough.  But  this  by  the  by,  for  it  is  against  the 
principle  itself  I  am  contending,  and  not  the  misappli- 
cation of  it.  After  what  was  said  above,  I  may  ask,  if 
anything  connected  with  the  families  of  Howard  and 
Percy,  and  their  rank  and  influence,  and  thus  with  the 

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SIS  WOEMWOmTH  AT  COLBOBTOIT. 

State  of  government  and  society,  could,  in  the  present  age, 
be  deemed  a  recompense  for  their  thrusting  themselves  in 
between  us  and  Nature.  I  know  nothing  which  to  me 
would  be  so  pleasing  or  affecting,  as  to  be  able  to  say 
when  I  am  in  the  midst  of  a  large  estate— This  man  is 
not  the  victim  of  his  condition ;  he  is  not  the  spoiled  chil4 
of  worldly  grandeur ;  the  thought  of  himself  does  not  take 
the  lead  in  his  enjoyments ;  he  is,  when  he  ought  to  be, 
lowly-minded,  and  has  human  feeling;  he  has  a  true 
relish  of  simplicity,  and  therefore  stands  the  best  chance 
of  being  happy ;  at  least,  without  it  there  is  no  happiness, 
because  there  can  be  no  true  sense  of  the  bounty  and 
beauty  of  the  creation,  or  insight  into  the  constitution  of 
the  human  mind.  Let  a  man  of  wealth  and  influence 
show,  by  the  appearance  of  the  country  in  his  neighbour- 
hood, that  he  treads  in  the  steps  of  the  good  sense  of  the 
age,  and  occasionally  goes  foremost ;  let  him  give  coun- 
tenance to  improvements  in  agriculture,  steering  clear  of 
the  pedantry  of  it,  and  showing  that  its  grossest  utilities 
will  connect  themselves  harmoniously  with  the  more  intel- 
lectual arts,  and  even  thrive  the  best  under  such  connec- 
tion ;  let  him  do  his  utmost  to  be  surrounded  with  tenants 
living  comfortably,  which  will  bring  always  with  it  the 
best  of  all  graces  that  a  country  can  have  —  flourishing 
fields  and  happy-looking  houses ;  and,  in  that  part  of  his 
estate  devoted  to  park  and  pleasure-ground,  let  him  keep 
himself  as  much  out  of  sight  as  possible ;  let  Nature  be 
all  in  all,  taking  care  that  everything  done  by  man  shall 
be  in  the  way  of  being  adopted  by  her.  *  If  people  choose 

*  [The  sanfljb  principle  was  afterwards  expressed  in  a  very  felici- 
tous phrase,  in  the  last  of  the  notes  to  *  The  White  Doe  of  Ryl- 
stpne ; '  speaking  of  the  beautiful  scenery  around  Bolton  Abbey, 
and  of  the  gentleman  to  whose  charge  the  grounds  were  intrusted, 
Wordsworth  says,  '  in  whatever  he  has  added,  he  has  done  justice 

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WORD8WOETH  AT  COLKOBTON*  Mt 

that  a  great  mansion  should  be  the  chief  figure  in  a  coun« 
try,  let  this  kind  of  keeping  prevail  through  the  picture, 
and  true  taste  will  find  no  fault. 

^  I  am  writing  now  rather  for  writing's  sake  than  any- 
thing else,  for  I  have  many  remembrances  beating  about 
}n  my  head  which  you  would  little  suspect.  I  have  been 
thinking  of  you,  and  Coleridge,  and  our  Scotch  tour,  and 
Lord  Lowther's  grounds.  I  have  had  before  me  the  tre- 
mendously long  ell-wide  gravel  walks  of  the  Duke  of 
Atbol,  among  the  wild  glens  of  Blair,  Bruar  Water,  and 
Dunkeld,  brushed  neatly,  without  a  blade  of  grass  or  weed 
upon  them,  or  anything  that  bore  traces  of  a  human  foot- 
step —  much  indeed  of  human  hands,  but  wear  or  tear  of 
foot  was  none.  .  Thence  I  passed  to  our  neighbour.  Lord 
Lowther.  You  know  that  his  predecessor,  greatly,  with- 
out doubt,  to  the  advantage  of  the  place,  left  it  to  take  care 
of  itself.  The  present  lord  seems  disposed  to  do  some- 
thing, but  not  much.  He  has  a  neighbour,  a  Quaker,  an 
amiable,  inoffensive  man,^  and  a  little  of  a  poet  too,  who 
has  amused  himself,  upon  his  own  small  estate  upon  the 
Emont,  in  twining  pathways  along  the  banks  of  the  river, 
making  little  cells  and  bowers  with  inscriptions  of  his  own 
writing,  all  very  pretty  as  not  spreading  far.  He  is  at 
present  Arbiter  Elegahtiarum,  or  master  of  the  grounds, 
at  Lowther,  and  what  he  has  done  hitherto  is  very  well,  as 
it  is  little  more  than  making  accessible  what  could  not 
before  be  got  at.  You  know  something  of  Lowther.  I 
believe  a  more  delightful  spot  is  not  under  the  sun.  Last 
summer  I  had  a  charming  walk  along  the  river,  for  which 

to  the  place,  by  working  with  an  invisible  hand  of  art  in  the  very 
spirit  of  nature.'  —  Vol.  iv.  p.  279.  —  h.  b.] 

^  Mr.  Thomas  Wilkinson,  mentioned  above,  p.  55,  323. 

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SSO  WOBMWOETH  AT  COLBOBTON. 

I  was  indebted  to  this  man,  whose  intention  is  to  carry 
the  walk  along  the  river-side  till  it  joins  the  great  road  at 
Lowther  Bridge,  which  you  will  recollect,  just  under 
Brougham,  about  a  mile  from  Penrith.  This  to  my  great 
sorrow !  for  the  manufactured  walk,  which  was  absolutely 
necessary  in  many  places,  will  in  one  place  pass  through 
a  few  hundred  yards  of  forest  ground,  and  will  there 
efface  the  most  beautiful  specimen  of  a  forest  pathway 
ever  seen  by  human  eyes,  and  which  I  have  paced  many 
an  hour,  when  I  was  a  youth,  with  some  of  those  I  best 
loved.  There  is  a  continued  opening  between  the  trees, 
a  narrow  slip  of  green  turf  besprinkled  with  flowers, 
chiefly  daisies,  and  here  it  is  that  this  pretty  path  plays  its 
pranks,  wearing  away  the  turf  and  flowers  at  its  pleasure. 
When  I  took  the  walk  I  was  speaking  of,  last  summer,  it 
was  Sunday.  I  met  several  of  the  people  of  the  country 
posting  to  and  from  church,  in  different  parts ;  and  in  a 
retired  spot  by  the  river-side  were  two  musicians  (belong- 
ing probably  to  some  corps  of  volunteers)  playing  upon 
the  hautboy  and  clarionet.  You  may  guess  I  was  not  a 
little  delighted ;  and  as  you  had  been  a  visitor  at  Lowther, 
I  could  not  help  wishing  you  were  with  me.  And  now  I 
am  brought  to  the  sentiment  which  occasioned  this  detail ; 
I  may  say,  brought  back  to  my  subject,  which  is  this, — 
that  all  just  and  solid  pleasure  in  natural  objects  rests  upon 
two  pillars,  God  and  Man.  Laying  out  grounds,  as  it  is 
called,  may  be  considered  as  a  liberal  art,  in  some  sort 
like  poetry  and  painting :  and  its  object,  like  that  of  all 
the  liberal  arts,  is,  or  ought  to  be,  to  move  the  affections 
under  the  control  of  good  sense  ;  that  is,  those  of  the  best 
and  wisest :  but,  speaking  with  more  precbion,  it  is  to 
assist  Nature  in  moving  the  affections,  and,  surely,  as  I 
have  said,  the  affections  of  those  who  have  the  deepest 
perception  of  the  beauty  of  Nature ;  who  have  the  most 

,  Digitized  by  CjOOQIC 


WORD8WOBTH  AT  COLEORTON.  351 

valuable  feelings,  that  is,  the  most  permanent,  the  most 
independent,  the  most  ennobling,  connected  with  Nature 
and  human  life.  No  liberal  art  aims  merely  at  the  grati- 
fication of  an  individual  or  a  class  :  the  painter  or  poet  i» 
degraded  in  proportion  as  he  does  so  ;  the  true  servants  of 
the  Arts  pay  homage  to  the  human  kind  as  impersonated 
in  un warped  and  enlightened  minds.  If  this  be  so  when 
we  are  merely  putting  together  words  or  colours,  how 
much  more  ought  the  feeling  to  prevail  when  we  are  in 
the  midst  of  the  realities  of  things ;  of  the  beauty  and  har- 
mony, of  the  joy  and  happiness  of  loving  creatures ;  of 
men  and  children,  of  birds  and  beasts,  of  hills  and  streams, 
and  trees  and  flowers ;  with  the  changes  of  night  and  day, 
evening  and  morning,  summer  and  winter ;  and  all  their 
unwearied  actions  and  energies,  as  benign  in  the  spirit 
that  animates  them  as  they  are  beautiful  and  grand  in  that 
form  and  clothing  which  is  given  to  them  for  the  delight 
of  our  senses  I  But  I  must  stop,  for  you  feel  these  things 
as  deeply  as  I ;  more  deeply,  if  it  were  only  for  this,  that 
you  have  lived  longer.  What  then  shall  we  say  of  many 
great  mansions  with  their  unqualified  expulsion  of  human 
creatures  from  their  neighbourhood,  happy  or  not ;  houses, 
which  do  what  is  fabled  of  the  upas  tree, —  breathe  out 
death  and  desolation  ! '  I  know  you  will  feel  with  me 
here,  both  as  a  man  and  a  lover  and  professor  of  the  arts. 
I  was  glad  to  hear  from  Lady  Beaumont  that  you  did  not 
think  of  removing  your  village.  Of  course  much  here  will 
depend  upon  circumstances,  above  all,  with  what  kind  of 
inhabitants,  from  the  nature  of  the  employments  in  that 
district,  the  village  is  likely  to  be  stocked.  But,  for  my 
part,  strip  my  neighbourhood  of  human  beings,  and  I 
should  think  it  one  of  the  greatest  privations  I  could 
undergo.  You  have  all  the  poverty  of  solitude,  nothing  of 
its  elevation.     In  a  word,  if  I  were  disposed  to  write  a 

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Mm  WOBDSWOETH  AT  COLBOBTON. 

•ennon  (and  this  is  something  like  one)  upon  the  subject 
of  taste  in  natural  beauty,  I  should  take  for  my  text  the 
little  pathway  in  Lowther  woods,  and  all  which  I  had  to 
•ay  would  begin  and  end  in  the  human  heart,  as  under  the 
direction  of  the  Divine  Nature,  conferring  value  oa  the 
objects  of  the  senses,  and  pointing  out  what  is  valuaUe  in 
them. 

^I  began  this  subject  with  Coleorton  in  my  thoughts, 
and  a  confidence  that  whatever  difficulties  or  crosses  (as 
of  many  good  things  it  is  not  easy  to  choose  the  best)  you 
might  meet  with  in  the  practical  application  of  your  prin- 
ciples of  taste,  yet,  being  what  they  are,  you  will  soon  be 
pleased  and  satisfied.  Only  (if  I  may  take  the  freedom  to 
say  so)  do  not  give  way  too  much  to  others :  considering 
what  your  studies  and  pursuits  have  been,  your  own  judg- 
ment must  be  the  best:  professional  men  may  suggest 
hints,  but  I  would  keep  the  decision  to  myself. 

^Lady  Beaumont  utters  something  like  an  apprehen- 
sion that  the  slowness  of  workmen  or  other  impediments 
may  prevent  our  families  meeting  at  Coleorton  next  sum- 
mer. We  shall  be  sorry  for  this,  the  more  so,  as  the  same 
cause  will  hinder  your  coming  hither.  At  all  events,  we 
shall  depend  upon  her  frankness,  which  we  take  most 
kindly  indeed ;  I  mean  on  the  promise  she  has  made,  to 
let  us  know  whether  you  are  gotten  so  far  through  your 
work  as  to  make  it  comfortable  for  us  all  to  be  together. 

^  I  cannot  close  this  letter  without  a  word  about  myself. 
I  am  sorry  to  say  I  am  not  yet  settled  to  any  serious  em- 
ployment. The  expectation  of  Coleridge  not  a  little 
unhinges  me,  and,  still  more,  the  number  of  visitors  we 
have  had ;  but  winter  is  approaching,  and  I  have  good 
hopes.  1  mentioned  Michael  Angelo^s  poetry  some  time 
ago ;  it  is  the  most  difficult  to  construe  I  ever  met  with, 
but  just  what  you  would  expect  from  such  a  man,  showing 

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WOBDSWOBTH  AT  COLBOETOM.  383 

abundantly  how  conversant  his  soul  was  with  great  things. 
Theie  is  a  mistake  in  the  world  concerning  the  Italian 
language;  the  poetry  of  Dante  and  Michael  Angelo 
proves,  that  if  there  be  little  majesty  and  strength  in 
Italian  verse,  the  fault  is  in  the  authors,  and  not  in  the 
tongue.  I  can  translate,  and  have  translated,  two  books 
of  Ariosto,  at  the  rate,  nearly,  of  one  hundred  lines  a 
day;  but  so  much  meaning  heu9  been  put  by  Michael 
Angelo  into  so  little  room,  and  that  meaning  sometimes 
so  excellent  in  itself,  that  I  found  the  difficulty  of  translat- 
ing him  insurmountable.  I  attempted,  at  least,  fifteen  of 
the  sonnets,  but  could  not  anywhere  succeed.  I  have 
sent  you  the  only  one  I  was  able  to  finish :  it  is  far  from 
being  the  best,  or  most  characteristic,  but  the  others  were 
too  much  for  me. 

•  •••.• 

'1  began  this  letter  about  a  week  ago,  having  been 
interrupted.  I  mention  this,  because  I  have  on  this 
account  to  apologize  to  Lady  Beaumont,  and  to  my  sister 
also,  whose  intention  it  was  to  have  written,  but  being 
very  much  engaged,  she  put  it  off  as  I  was  writing.  We 
have  been  weaning  Dorothy,  and  since,  she  has  had  a 
return  of  the  croup  from  an  imprudent  exposure  on  a  very 
cold  day.  But  she  is  doing  well  again ;  and  my  sister 
will  write  very  soon.  Lady  Beaumont  inquired  how 
game  might  be  sent  us.  There  is  a  direct  conveyance 
from  Manchester  to  Kendal  by  the  mail,  and  a  parcel 
directed  for  me,  to  be  delivered  at  Kendal,  immediately, 
to  John  Brockbank,  Ambleside,  postman,  would,  I  dare 
say,  find  its  way  to  us  expeditiously  enough ;  only  you 
will  have  the  goodness  to  mention  in  your  letters  when 
you  do  send  anything,  otherwise  we  may  not  be  aware  of 
any  mistake. 

'  I  am  glad  the  print  will  be  acceptable,  and  will  send 

VOL.  I.  23 

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SM  WOBMWOftTR  AT  COLBOBtON. 

it  any  way  you  shall  think  proper,  though  peihaps,  as  it 
would  only  make  a  small  parcel,  there  might  he  some 
risk  in  trusting  it  to  the  waggon  or  mail,  unless  it  could 
be  conveniently  inquired  after.  No  news  of  Coleridge. 
The  length  of  this  letter  is  quite  formidable ;  forgive  it 
Farewell,  and  believe  me,  my  dear  Sir  George, 

^  Your  truly  affectionate  friend, 

'  W.  Wordsworth/ 

To  this  letter  the  following  must  be  added  as  a  post- 
script. 

To  Sir  George  Beaumont. 

'Grasmere,  Feb.  11,  1806. 

'  There  were  some  parts  in  the  long  letter  which  1  wrote 
about  laying  out  grounds,  in  which  the  expression  must 
have  been  led  imperfect.  I  like  splendid  mansions  in 
their  proper  places,  and  have  no  objection  to  large,  or 
even  obtrusive,  houses  in  themselves.  My  dislike  is  to 
that  system  of  gardening  which,  because  a  house  happens 
to  be  large,  or  splendid,  and  stands  at  the  head  of  a  large 
domain,  establishes  it,  therefore,  as  a  principle  that  the 
house  ought  to  dye  all  the  surrounding  country  with  a 
strength  of  colouring,  and  to  an  extent  proportionate  to  its 
own  importance.  This  system  is  founded,  I  think,  in  false 
taste  —  false  feeling ;  and  its  effects  are  disgusting  in  the 
highest  degree.  The  reason  you  mention  as  having  in- 
duced you  to  build,  was  worthy  of  you,  and  gave  me  the 
highest  pleasure  ;  but  I  hope  God  will  grant  you  and  Lady 
Beaumont  life  to  enjoy  the  fruit  of  your  exertions,  for 
many  years. 

'  We  have  lately  had  much  anxiety  about  Coleridge. 
What  can  have  become  of  him  ?     It  must  be  upwards  of 

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WOBDSWORTH   AT   COLEOSTON.  95& 

three  months  since  he  landed  at  Trieste.  Has  he  returned 
to  Malta,  think  you  ?  or  what  can  have  befallen  him  ? 
He  has  never  since  been  heard  of. 

*  Lady  Beaumont  spoke  of  your  having  been  ill  of  a 
cold:  1  hope  you  are  better.  We  have  all  here  been, 
more  or  less,  deranged  in  the  same  way. 

'  We  have  to  thank  you  for  a  present  of  game,  which 
arrived  in  good  time. 

^  Never  have  a  moment's  uneasiness  about  answering 
my  letters.  We  are  all  well  at  present,  and  unite  in 
affectionate  wishes  to  you  and  Lady  Beaumont.  Believe 
me,  1^our  sincere  friend, 

'  W^  Wordsworth.' 

Mr.  Wordsworth  passed  through  London  on  his  way  to 
Coleorton,  and  has  described  certain  scenes  which  he  saw 
in  the  metropolis.  The  poem  entitled  '  Stray  Pleasures,'  ^ 
he  says,  was  then  composed. 

*  The  Power  of  Music,'  ^  and  '  Stargazers,'  3  written  at 
the  same  time,  may  suggest  to  the  inhabitants  of  London, 
how  the  imagination  may  find  food  for  its  nourishment  in 
the  Strand  and  Leicester  Square,  as  well  as  in  the  vale  of 
Grasmere,  and  on  the  summits  of  Helvellyn. 

Mr.  Coleridge  returned  to  London  from  the  Continent 
in  the  summer  of  -1 806 ;  and  in  the  autumn  he  went  to 
visit  his  friends,  Wordsworth  and  his  family,  who  were 
then  at  Coleorton.  There  he  listened  to  '  The  Prelude,' 
read  by  the  author,  and  he  recorded  the  impression  which 
it  made  upon  him  in  the  verses  which  he  wrote  on  the 
subject,  and  afterwards  published  in  'The  Sibylline 
Leaves.'* 

'  Vol.  ii.  p.  51.  2  Vol.  ii.  p.  105.  »  Vol.  ii.  p.  107. 

*  P.  197  J  or  Poetical  Works,  vol  i.  p.  206.  See  also  his  Tabic 
Talk,  vol.  ii.  p.  70. 

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858  WOSDSWOETH  AT  COLBOSTON. 

Among  the  poems  connected  with  the  grounds  of 
Coleorton  must  not  be  forgotten  the  '  Inscriptions,'  from 
Wordsworth's  pen,  some  of  which  still  adorn  those  beauti* 
ful  walks  and  glades,  and  are  printed  in  the  Pbet's 
works.  1 

Concerning  these,  the  author  gave  the  following  remi- 
niscences :  *  — 

Inscriptions^  No.  1.  —  'In  the  grounds  of  Coleorton, 
these  verses  are  engraved  on  a  stone,  placed  near  the  tree 
which  was  thriving  and  spreading  when  I  saw  it  in  the 
summer  of  1841.' 

No.  2.  — '  This  niche  is  in  the  sandstone  rock  in  the 
winter-garden  at  Coleorton,  which  garden,  as  has  been 
elsewhere  said,  was  made  under  our  direction,  out  of  an 
old  unsightly  quarry.  While  the  labourers  were  at  work, 
Mrs.  Wordsworth,  my  sister,  and  I,  used  to  amuse  our- 
selves, occasionally,  in  scooping  this  seat  out  of  the  soft 
stone.  It  is  of  the  size,  with  something  of  the  appearance, 
of  a  stall  in  a  cathedral.  This  inscription  is  not  engraven, 
as  the  former  of  the  two  following  are,  in  the  grounds.' 

Some  of  these  Inscriptions  may  suggest  a  comparison 
with  poems  of  Theocritus  and  the  Greek  Anthology,  and 
with  some  of  the  minor  pieces  of  Catullus,  and  other  pro- 
ductions of  antiquity,  inscribed  on  the  rocky  walls  of 
grottos,  or  on  pedestals  of  statues  in  fair  gardens  or  cool 
alcoves.  This  kind  of  composition  has  not  been  much 
cultivated  in  England.  Our  climate  does  not  seem  favour- 
able to  hypathral  versification.  And  where  it  has  been 
attempted,  it  has  in  general  been  marked  by  too  great 
difFuseness  and  redundancy,  faults  not  easily  pardoned  by 
in-door  readers,  and  liable  to  severer  criticism  in  out-door 
compositions. 

'  Vol.  V.  p.  58-60.  «MSS.I.F. 

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W0BB8W0RTH  AT  GOLBOSTON.  S57 

WhUe  Mr.  Wordsworth  was  in  Leicestershire,  1806-7, 
his  miad  often  travelled  northward,  and  reverted  to  his 
earlier  associations.  It  recurred  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
Penrith.  The  Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle^  ^ 
was  then  composed.  *  This  poem,'  he  says,  ^  *  was  com- 
posed at  Coleorton  while  I  was  walking  to  and  fro  along 
the  path  that  led  from  Sir  George  Beau  months /arm- Aotae, 
where  we  resided,  to  the  Hall,  which  was  building  at  that 
time.'* 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  144.  «  MSS.  I.  F. 

*  [It  would,  I  am  aware,  be  inappropriate  to  incumber  the  pages 
of  these  '  Memoirs '  with  criticism  on  the  poems,  but  I  cannot 
resist  the  temptation  to  introduce  here  a  short  comment  upon  the 
'Song  at  the  Feast  of  Brougham  Castle j*  written  by  the  daughter  of 
Coleridge  ;  it  is  given  in  one  of  her  editorial  notes  in  the  latest 
edition  of  her'  Father's  ^Biographia  Liter aria.^  It  is  from  &uch 
modest  seclusion  that  I  now  cite  what  may  safely  be  pronounced 
one  of  the  most  admirable  pieces  of  detached  criticism  in  the  lan- 
guage : 

'The  transitions  and  vicissitudes  in  this  noble  lyric  I  have 
always  thought  rendered  it  one  of  the  finest  specimens  of  modern 
subjective  poetry  which  our  age  has  seen.  The  ode  commence^ 
in  a  tone  of  high  gratulation  and  festivity  —  a  tone  not  only  glad 
but  comparatively  even  jocund  and  light-hearted.  The  Clifford  is 
restored  to  the  home,  the  honours  and  estates  of  his  ancestors. 
Then  it  sinks  and  falls  away  to  the  remembrance  of  tribulation  — 
times  of  war  and  bloodshed,  flight  and  terror,  and  hiding  away 
from  the  enemy  —  times  of  poverty  and  distress,  when  the  Clifford 
was  brought,  a  little  child,  to  the  shelter  of  a  northern  valley. 
After  a  while  it  emerges  from  those  depths  of  sorrow  —  gradually 
rises  into  a  strain  of  elevated  tranquillity  and  contemplative  rap- 
lure  )  through  the  power  of  imagination,  the  beautiful  and  im- 
pressive aspects  of  nature  are  brought  into  relationship  with  the 
spirit  of  him,  whose  fortunes  and  character  form  the  subject  of 
the  piece,  and  are  represented  as  gladdening  and  exalting  it, 
whilst  they  keep  it  pure  and  unspotted  from  the  world.    Suddenly 

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WOEMWOETH  AT  C0LBOETON« 

He  wrote,  7W  voices  are  therej  in  the  ^fioanets  to 
Liberty,*  at  the  same  time. 

In  the  spring  of  1807,  he  and  Mrs.  Wordsworth  went  to 
London,  where  they  remained  a  month.  Miss  Wordsworth 
and  the  children  still  remaining  at  Coleorton ;  and  it  was 
on  this  occasion,  on  the  eve  of  their  return  from  London, 
that  she  wrote  the  poem,  *'  The  Mother^s  Return.*  ^ 

'  A  month,  sweet  little  ones,  is  past, 
Since  your  dear  mother  went  away ; 
And  she,  to-morrow,  will  return  -, 
To-morrow  is  the  happy  day.' 

Wordsworth  was  accompanied  by  Walter  Scott  on  his 
return  to  Coleorton,  where  he  remained  till  the  summer 
of  1807.  He  passed  a  part  of  the  winter  of  that  year  at 
Stockton-on-Tees,  at  the  house  of  Mr.  John  Hutchinson, 
and  in  the  spring  of  1808  returned  to  Grasmere. 

The  following  letters,  written  some  time  after  his  return 

the  Poet  is  carrried  on  with  greater  animation  and  passion  :  —  he 
has  returned  to  the  point  whence  he  started—  flung  himself  back 
into  the  tide  of  stirring  life  and  moving  events.  All  is  to  come 
over  agfiin,  struggle  and  conflict,  chances  and  changes  of  war, 
victory  and  triumph,  overthrow  and  desolation.  I  know  nothing, 
in  lyric  poetry,  more  beautiful  or  affecting  than  the  final  transiiion 
from  this  part  of  the  ode,  with  its  rapid  metre,  to  the  slow  elegiac 
stanzas  at  the  end,  when  from  the  warlike  fervour  and  eagerness, 
the  jubilant  menacing  strain  which  has  just  been  described,  the 
Poet  passes  back  into  the  sublime  silence  of  Nature,  gathering 
amid  her  deep  and  quiet  bosom  a  more  subdued  and  solemn  ten- 
derness than  he  had  manifested  before  ;  it  is  as  if  from  the  heights 
of  the  imaginative  intellect  his  spirit  had  retreated  into  the 
recesses  of  a  profoundly  thoughtful  Christian  heart.  —  s.  c.  — 
*  Bwgraphia  Literaridf  edit,  of  1847,  Vol.  ii.  Chap.  ix.  p.  152, 
note.  —  H.  R.] 

»  Vol  i.  p.  152. 

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WOftOSWOETH  AT  COLBOBTON.  9S§ 

to  Grasmere,  refer  to  the  Inscriptions  at  Coleorton,  and 
may  conclude  this  chapter. 

*  My  dear  Sir  Greorge, 
*  Had  there  been  room  at  the  end  bf  the  small  avenue 
of  lime-trees  for  planting  a  spacious  circle  of  the  same 
trees,  the  um  might  have  been  placed  in  the  centre,  with 
the  inscription  thus  altered  : 

"  Ye  lime-trees,  ranged  around  this  hallowed  um, 
Shoot  forth  with  lively  power  at  spring's  return ! 

Here  may  some  painter  sit  in  future  days, 

Some  future  poet  meditate  his  lays ! 

Not  mindless  of  that  distant  age,  renowned, 

When  inspiration  hovered  o'er  this  ground, 

The  haunt  of  him  who  sang,  how  spear  and  shield 

In  civil  conflict  met  on  Bosworth  field. 

And  of  that  famous  youth  (full  soon  removed 

From  earth !)  by  mighty  Shakspeare's  self  approved, 

Fletcher's  associate,  Jonson's  friend  beloved.'* 

*The  first  couplet  of  the  above,  as  it  before  stood^ 
would  have  appeared  ludicrous,  if  the  stone  had  remained 
after  the  tree  might  have  been  gone.  The  couplet  relating 
to  the  household  virtues  did  not  accord  with  the  painter 
and  the  poet ;  the  former  being  allegorical  figures ;  the 
latter,  living  men. 

'  What  follows,  I  composed  yesterday  morning,  thinking 
there  might  be  no  impropriety  in  placing  it,  so  as  to  be 
visible  only  to  a  person  sitting  within  the  niche  which  we 
hollowed  out  of  the  sandstone  in  the  winter-garden.  I  am 
told  that  this  is,  in  the  present  form  of  the  niche,  impos- 
sible ;  but  I  shall  be  most  ready,  when  I  come  to  Cole- 
orton, to  scoop  out  a  place  for  it,  if  Lady  Beaumont  think 
it  worth  while. 

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800  WOEDSWORTH  AT  OOLBOmtOIV. 

INSCRIPTION. 

<'Oft  is  the  medal  foithfal  to  its  trast 
When  temples,  columns,  towers,  are  laid  in  dost ; 
And  His  a  common  ordinance  of  fate 
That  things  obscure  and  small  outlive  the  great. 
Hence,"  dec. 

^  These  inscriptions  have  all  one  fault,  they  are  too  long ; 
but  I  was  unable  to  do  justice  to  the  thoughts  in  less  room. 
The  second  has  brought  Sir  John  Beaumont  and  his 
brother  Francis  so  lively  to  my  mind,  that  I  recur  to  the 
plan  of  republishing  the  former's  poems,  perhaps  in  con- 
nection with  those  of  Francis.  Could  any  further  search 
be  made  after  the  "  Crown  of  Thorns  ?  "  If  I  recollect 
right,  Southey  applied  without  effect  to  the  numerous 
friends  he  has  among  the  collectors.  The  best  way,  per- 
haps, of  managing  this  republication  would  be,  to  print  it 
in  a  very  elegant  type  and'  paper,  and  not  many  copies, 
to  be  sold  high,  so  that  it  might  be  prized  by  the  collectors 
as  a  curiosity.  Bearing  in  mind  how  many  excellent 
things  there  are  in  Sir  John  Beaumont's  little  volume,  I  am 
somewhat  mortified  at  this  mode  of  honouring  his  memory  ; 
but  in  the  present  state  of  the  taste  of  this  country,  I  can- 
not flatter  myself  that  poems  of  that  character  would  win 
their  way  into  general  circulation.  Should  it  appear  ad- 
visable, another  edition  might  afterwards  be  published, 
upon  a  plan  which  would  place  the  book  within  the  reach 
of  those  who  have  little  money  to  spare.  I  remain,  my 
dear  Sir  Greorge, 

'  Your  affectionate  friend, 

*  W.  Wordsworth.* 

'Orasmere,  Sat.,  Nov.  16,  1811. 
•  My  dear  Sir  George, 
*  I  have  to  thank  you  for  two  letters.     Lady  Beaumont 

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WOBZMSWOBTH   AT   COLEOSTON.  961 

also  will  accept  my  acknowledgments  for  the  interesting 
letter  with  which  she  favoured  me. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

'  I  learn  from  Mrs.  Coleridge,  who  has  lately  heard  from 
C ,  that  Allston,  the  painter,  has  arrived  in  Lon- 
don. Coleridge  speaks  of  him  as  a  most  interesting  per- 
son. He  has  brought  with  him  a  few  pictures  from  his 
own  pencil,  among  others,  a  Cupid  and  Psyche,  which,  in 
C.'s  opinion,  has  not,  for  colouring,  been  surpassed  since 
Titian.  C.  is  about  to  deliver  a  Course  of  Lectures  upon 
Poetry,  at  some  Institution  in  the  city.  He  is  well,  and  I 
learn  that  the  "Friend"  has  been  a  good  deal  inquired 
after  lately.     For  ourselves, -we  never  hear  from  him. 

'  I  am  glad  that  the  inscriptions  please  you.  It  did 
always  appear  to  me,  that  inscriptions,  particularly  those 
in  verse,  or  in  a  dead  language,  were  never  supposed 
necessarily  to  be  the  composition  of  those  in  whose  name 
they  appeared.  If  a  more  striking,  or  more  dramatic 
effect  could  be  produced,  I  have  always  thought,  that  in 
an  epitaph  or  memorial  of  any  kind,  a  father,  or  husband, 
&c.,  might  be  introduced,  speaking,  without  any  absolute 
deception  being  intended  :  that  is,  the  reader  is  understood 
to  be  at  liberty  to  say  to  himself,  —  these  verses,  or  this 
Latin  may  be  the  composition  of  some  unknown  person, 
and  not  that  of  the  father,  widow,  or  friend,  from  whose 
hand  or  voice  they  profess  to  proceed.  If  the  composi- 
tion be  natural,  affecting,  or  beautiful,  it  is  all  that  is 
required.  This,  at  least,  was  my  view  of  the  subject,  or  I 
should  not  have  adopted  that  mode.  However,  in  respect 
to  your  scruples,  which  I  feel  are  both  delicate  and 
reasonable,  I  have  altered  the  verses  ;  and  I  have  only  to 
regret  that  the  alteration  is  not  more  happily  done.  But 
I  never  found  anything  more  difficult.  I  wished  to  pre- 
serve the  expression  patrimonial  grounds,  but  I  found 

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Ml  wo^smwonru  at  ooLsomTON, 

tlus  impossible,  on  account  of  the  awkwardness  of  the 
pronouns  he  and  his,  as  applied  to  Reynolds,  and  to  your- 
self. This,  even  where  it  does  not  produce  confusion,  is 
always  inelegant.  I  was,  therefore,  obliged  to  drop  it ;  so 
that  we  must  be  content,  I  fear,  with  the  inscription  as  it 
stands  below.  As  you  mention  that  the  first  copy  was 
mislaid,  I  will  transcribe  the  first  part  from  that ;  but  you 
can  either  choose  the  Dome  or  the  Abbey  as  you  like. 

"Ye  lime-trees,  ranged  before  this  hallowed  um, 
Shoot  forth  with  liv^ely  power  at  spring's  return  ; 
And  be  not  slow  a  stately  growth  to- rear 
Of  pillars,  branching  off  from  year  to  year. 
Till  ye  have  framed,  at  length,  a  darksome  aisle, 
Like  a  recess  within  that  sacred  pile 
Where  Reynolds,  *mid  our  country's  noblest  dead. 
In  the  last  sanctity  of  fame  is  laid," 

&c.,  &c. 

*  I  hope  this  will  do  ;  I  tried  a  hundred  different  ways, 
but  cannot  hit  upon  anything  better.  1  am  sorry  to  learn 
from  Lady  Beaumont,  that  there  is  reason  to  believe  that 
our  cedar  is  already  perished.  I  am  sorry  for  it.  The 
verses  upon  that  subject  you  and  Lady  B.  praise  highly  ; 
and  certainly,  if  they  have  merit,  as  I  cannot  but  think  they 
have,  your  discriminating  praises  have  pointed  it  out. 
The  alteration  in  the  beginning,  I  think  with  you,  is  a 
great  improvement,  and  the  first  line  is,  to  my  ear,  very 
rich  and  grateful.  As  to  the  "  Female  and  Male,"  I 
know  not  how  to  get  rid  of  it;  for  that  circumstance 
gives  the  recess  an  appropriate  interest.  I  remember,  Mr. 
Bowles,  the  poet,  objected  to  the  word  ravishment  at  the 
end  of  the  sonnet  to  the  winter-garden  ;  yet  it  has  the 
avithority  of  all  the  first-rate  poets,  for  instance,  Milton ; 

'^  In  whose  sight  all  things  joy,  with  ranshnwitf 
Attracted  by  thy  beauty  still  to  gase." 

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WO^MWOETH  AT  COLBCRTON.  S6S 

Objections,  upon  these  grounds  merit  more  attention  in 
regard  to  inscriptions  than  any  other  sort  of  composition  ; 
^uid  on  this  account,  the  lines  (I  mean  those  upon  the 
niche)  had  better  be  suppressed,  for  it  is  not  improbable 
that  the  altering  of  them  might  cost  me  more  trouble  than 
iv^riting  a  hundred  fresh  ones. 

*  We  were  happy  to  hear  that  your  mother,  Lady 
Beaumont,  was  so  surprisingly  well.  You  do  not  men* 
tion  the  school  at  Coleorton.  Pray  how  is  Wilkie  in 
health,  and  also  as  to  progress  in  his  art  ?  I  do ,  not* 
doubt  that  I  shall  like  Arnold's  picture  ;  but  he  would 
have  been  a  better  painter,  if  his  genius  had  led  him  to 
read  more  in  the  early  part  of  his  life.  Wilkie's  style  of 
painting  does  not  require  that  the  mind  should  be  fed  from 
books  ;  but  I  do  not  think  it  possible  to  excel  in  landscape 
painting  without  a  strong  tincture  of  the  poetic  spirit.' 

'Grasmere,  Wednesday,  Nov.  20,  1811. 
*  My  dear  Lady  Beaumont, 

*  When  you  see  this,  you  will  think  I  mean  to  over- 
run you  with  inscriptions  :  I  do  not  mean  to  tax  you  with 
putting  them  up,  only  with  reading  them.  The  following 
1  composed  yesterday  morning,  in  a  walk  from  Brathway, 
whither  I  had  been  to  accompany  my  sister. 

FOR  A  SEAT  IN  THE  GROVES  OF  COLEORTON. 
"Beneath  yon  eastern  ridge,  the  craggy  bounl 
Rugged  and  high  of  Charnwood's  forest-ground, 
Stand  yet,  but.  Stranger !  hidden  from  thy  view, 
The  ivied  ruins  of  forlorn  Grace  Dieu," 

&c.,  &c. 

'  I  hope  that  neither  you  nor  Sir  George  will  think  that 
the  above  takes  from  the  effect  of  the  mention  of  Francis 
Beaumont  in  the  poem  upon  the  cedar.  Grace  Dieu  is 
itself  so  interesting  a  spot,  and  has  naturally  and  histori* 

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M4  W0BB6W0RTH   AT  COLBORTON. 

eally  such  a  connection  with  Coleorton,  that  I  could  not 
deny  myself  the  pleasure  of  paying  it  this  mark  of  atten* 
tion.  The  thought  of  writing  the  inscription  occurred  to 
me  many  years  ago.  I  took  the  liberty  of  transcribing 
for  Sir  Greorge  an  alteration  which  I  had  made  in  the  in- 
scription for  St.  Herbert's  Island ;  I  was  not  then  quite 
satisfied  with  it ;  I  have  since  retouched  it,  and  will  trou- 
ble you  to  read  him  the  following,  which  I  hope  will  give 
you  pleasure. 

"  This  island,  gaarded  from  profane  approach, 
By  mountains  high  and  waters  widely  spread| 
Gave  to  St.  Herbert  a  benign  retreat/' 

*'  I  ought  to  mention,  that  the  line, 

"  And  things  of  holy  use  unhallowed  lie," 

is  taken  from  the  following  of  Daniel, 

"  Strait  all  that  holy  was  unhallowed  lies." 

I  will  take  this  occasion  of  recommending  to  you  (if  you 
happen  to  have  Daniel's  poems)  to  read  the  epistle  ad- 
dressed to  the  Lady  Margaret,  Countess  of  Cumberland, 
beginning, 

*'  He  that  of  such  a  height  hath  huilt  his  mind." 

The  whole  poem  is  composed  in  a  strain  of  meditative 
morality  more  dignified  and  affecting  than  anything  of 
the  kind  I  ever  read.  It  is,  besides,  strikingly  applicable 
to  the  revolutions  of  the  present  times.  ♦ 

'  My  dear  Lady  Beaumont,  your  letter  and  the  accounts 
it  contains  of  the  winter-garden,  gave  me  great  pleasure. 
I  cannot  but  think,  that  under  your  care,  it  will  grow  up 

*  [See  the  quotation  from  this  poem  of  DaniePs,  in  the  4tk 
Book  of  '  Hu  Excursion f^  and  the  note  to  the  passage.  —  h.  r.] 

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WORDSWOETH  AT   COLSOETOlf.  tU 

into  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  interesting  spots  in 
Ungland.  We  all  here  have  a  longing  desire  to  see  it.  I 
have  mentioned  the  high  opinion  we  have  of  it  to  a  couple 
of  my  friends,  persons  of  taste  living  in  this  country,  who 
are  determined,  the  first  time  they  are  called  up  to  Lon* 
don,  to  turn  aside  to  visit  it;  which  I  said  they  might 
without  scruple  do,  if  they  mentioned  my  name  to  the 
gardener.  My  sister  begs  me  to  say,  that  she  is  aware 
how  long  she  has  been  in  your  debt,  and  that  she  should 
have  written  before  now,  but  that,  as  I  have,  latterly,  been 
in  frequent  communication  with  Coleorton,  she  thought  it 
as  well  to  defer  answering  your  letter.  Do  you  see  the 
*'  Courier  "  newspaper  at  Duntnow  ?  I  ask  on  account  of 
a  little  poem  upon  the  comet,  which  I  have  read  in  it 
to-day.  Though  with  several  defects,  and  some  feeble 
and  constrained  expressions,  it  has  great  merit,  and  is  far 
superior  to  the  run,  not  merely  of  newspaper,  but  of 
modem  poetry  in  general.  I  half  suspect  it  to  be  Cole- 
ridge^s,  for  though  it  is,  in  parts,  inferior  to  him,  I  know 
no  other  writer  of  the  day  who  can  do  so  well,*  It  con- 
sists of  five  stanzas,  in  the  measure  of  the  "  Fairy  Queen." 
It  is  to  be  found  in  last  Saturday's  paper,  November,  16th. 
If  you  don't  see  the  "  Courier  "  we  will  transcribe  it  for 
you.  As  so  much  of  this  letter  is  taken  up  with  my 
verses,  I  will  e'en  trespass  still  further  on  your  indul- 
gence, and  conclude  with  a  sonnet,  which  I  wrote  some 
time  ago  upon  the  poet,  John  Dyer.  If  you  have  not  read 
the  "  Fleece,"  I  would  strongly  recommend  it  to  you. 
The  character  of  Dyer,  as  a  patriot,  a  citizen,  and  a 

*  [The  piece,  here  spoken  of,  does  not  appear  to  have  been 
recovered,  or  claimed  by  Mrs.  H.  N.  Coleridge  for  her  father, 
among  his  contributions,  in  verse  and  prose,  to  '  The  Conrier,' 
which  she  has  lately  collected  in  the  '  Essays  on  his  awp,  Times.' 

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8M  WOHDSWOSTH  AT  COLEOSTON. 

tender-hearted  friend  of  humanity  was,  in  some  respects, 
injurious  to  him  as  a  poet,  and  has  induced  him  to  dwell, 
in  his  poem,  upon  processes  which,  however  important 
in  themselves,  were  unsusceptible  of  being  poetically 
treated.  Accordingly,  his  poem  is,  in  several  places,  dry 
and  heavy ;  but  its  beauties  are  innumerable,  and  of  a 
high  order.  In  point  of  imagination  and  purity  of  style, 
I  am  not  sure  that  he  is  not  superior  to  any  writer  in 
verse  since  the  time  of  Milton. 

SONNET. 
"  Bard  of  the  Fleece !  whose  skilful  genius  made 
That  work  a  living  landscape  fair  and  bright; 
Nor  hallowed  less  by  musical  delight 
Than  those  soft  scenes  through  which  thy  childhood  strayed, 
Those  southern  tracts  of  Cambria,  deep  embayed/ 

&CC.,  &c. 

'  In  the  above  is  one  whole  line  from  the  "  Fleece," 
and  two  other  expressions.  When  you  read  the  "  Fleece'* 
you  will  recognise  them.  I  remain,  my  dear  Lady 
Beaumont, 

'  Your  sincere  friend, 

'  W.  Wordsworth.' 


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CHAPTER    XXVII. 


HIS   CfllLDBEN. 


The  verses  '  on  the  MotheVs  Return,'  mentioned  in  the 
last  chapter,  furnish  an  appropriate  occasion  for  reference 
to  the  poems  in  which  Mr.  Wordsworth  speaks  of  those  to 
whom  the  above-mentioned  verses  of  his  sister  were  ad- 
dressed.    His  family  then  consisted  of  three  children : 

John,  his  eldest  son,  born  on  the  18th  of  June,  1803 ; 

Dorothy,  or  (as  she  is  called  in  her  father's  poems, 
and  as  she  was  known  to  all  around  her)  Dora, 
born  August  16,  1804;  the  birth-day,  also,  of  her 
mother ; 

Thomas,  born  June  16,  1806. 
Two  other  children  were  born  after  that  date  : 

Catharine,  September  6,  1808  ; 

William,  May  12,  1810. 

The  sonnet  that  concludes  the  series  on  the  Scotch  tour 
in  1803,^  ends  with  an  image  of  the  joy  which  would 
appear  on  the  face  of  his  first  child,  on  the  tidings  of  his 
father's  return : 

'  Yea,  let  our  Mary's  one  companion  child, 
That  hath  her  six  weeks'  solitude  beguiled, 
With  intimations,  manifold  and  dear. 
While  we  have  wandered  over  wood  and  wild, 
Smile  on  his  mother  now  with  bolder  cheer.* 

>  Vol.  iii  p.  30. 

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BX8  CHILDREN. 

In  the  followiag  year,  his  daughter  Dora  was  bom ;  and 
on  the  16th  September  of  that  year,  a  month  after  her 
birth,  he  wrote  the  lines,i 

'  Hast  thou  then  surriyed, 
Mild  offspring  of  infirm  humanity  ? 

....    Hail  to  thee! 
Frail,  feeble  monthling,     .    .    .    on  thy  face 
Smiles  are  beginning,  like  the  beams  of  dawn, 
To  shoot  and  circulate  ;  smiles  have  there  been  seen ; 
Tranquil  assurances  that  heaven  supports 
The  feeble  motions  of  thy  life,  and  cheers 
Thy  loneliness :  or  shall  those  smiles  be  called 
Feelers  of  love,  put  forth  as  if  to  explore 
This  untried  world,  and  to  prepare  thy  way 
Through  a  strait  passage  intricate  and  dim  ? ' 

A  few  weeks  passed  away ;  autumn  arrived  ;  the  with- 
ered leaves  in  the  cottage-orchard  at  Grasmere  began  to 
fall: 

'  Through  the  calm  and  frosty  air 
Of  the  morning,  bright  and  fair, 
Eddying  round  and  round  they  sink 
Softly,  slowly .» « 

The  kitten,  on  the  wall  of  the  garden,  sports  with  the 
leaves  as  they  fall  to  the  ground ;  the  infant  in  the  father's 
arms  is  delighted  with  the  show : 

'  Such  a  light  of  gladness  breaks, 
Pretty  Kitten !  from  thy  freaks } 
Spreads  with  such  a  living  grace. 
O'er  my  little  Dora's  face.* 

And  the  Poet  is  cheered  by  the  sight,  and  draws  a 
some  moral  from  the  whole  : 

'  I  will  have  my  careless  season 
Spite  of  melancholy  reason  ; 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  65.  «  Vol.  ii.  p.  62,  64. 

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W8  CHntDSSH.  S8f 

"Win  walk  throng^h  Kfe  in  such  a  way 
That,  wheo  time  brings  on  decay, 
Now  and  then  I  may  possess 
Hours  of  perfect  gladsomeness. 

Keep  the  sprightly  soul  awake, 
And  have  faculties  to  take 
Even  from  things  by  sorrow  wrought. 
Matter  for  a  jocund  thought ; 
Spite  of  care  and  spite  of  grief, 
To  gambol  with  life's  falling  leaf.' 

It  will  not  be  an  uninteresting  or  unprofitable  task  to 
look  forward  a  few  years,  and  to  compare  the  poem  just 
mentioned  with  another  of  a  serious  cast,  not,  however, 
unmingled  with  playfulness,  addressed  to  the  same  daugh- 
ter, at  a  different  season  of  the  year, —  'the  Longest 
Day.'i 

'  Dora !  sport,  as  now  thou  sportest 
On  this  platform,  light  and  free  ; 
Take  thy  bliss,  —  while  longest,  shortest, 
Are  indifferent  to  thee ! 

'  Yet,  at  this  impressive  season, 

Words  which  tenderness  can  speak, 
From  the  truths  of  homely  reason, 
Might  exalt  the  loveliest  cheek  ; 

'  And  while  shades  to  shades  succeeding 

Steal  the  landscape  from  the  sight, 
I  would  urge  this  moral  pleading, 
Last  forerunner  of  "  Good  Night." 

'  Summer  ebbs ;  each  day  that  follows 

Is  a  reflux  from  on  high. 
Tending  to  the  darksome  hollows. 
Where  the  frosts  of  winter  lie. 


>  Vol.  i.  p.  174. 
VOL.  I.  24 

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170  stt  CHiLmtsv. 

'  Now,  even  now,  ere  wrapped  in  ilomber, 

Fix  thine  eyes  upon  the  sea 
That  absorbs  Time,  Space,  and  Number,  — 
Look  thou  to  Eternity  I ' 

About  the  same  time  were  writteft  those  pathetic  lines  in 
which  the  Poet,  who  was  often  affected  by  disorder  and 
weakness  of  eyesight,  gives  vent  to  foreboding  apprehen- 
sions of  blindness.  In  quest  of  parallels  to  his  own  case, 
he  recurs  in  imagination,  first,  to  the  Samson  Agonistes  of 
Milton,  and  then  to  the  CEdipus  of  Sophocles.  In  this 
mood  of  mind,  he  thus  addresses  his  daughter : 

'"A  little  otncard  lend  thy  guiding  hand 
To  these  dark  steps,  a  little  further  onf^ 

—  What  trick  of  memory  to  my  voice  hath  broaght 
This  mournful  iteration  ?    For  though  Time, 

The  Conqueror,  crowns  the  Conquered,  on  this  brow 
Planting  his  favourite  silver  diadem. 
Nor  he,  nor  minister  of  his  —  intent 
To  run  before  him,  hath  enrolled  me  yet. 
Though  not  unmenaced,  among  those  who  lean 
Upon  a  living  staff,  with  borrowed  sight. 

—  0  my  Antigone  !  my  beloved  child ! 
Should  that  day  come    .    .    .'  ^ 

In  later  years,  the  imagery  of  mythology  gave  way  to 
the  sober  and  more  touching  language  of  real  life,  and 
the  verse  now  stands, 

'  0  my  own  Dora,  my  beloved  child ! ' 

He  concludes  the  poem  with  a  grateful  commemoration 
of  some  of  the  uses  of  eyesight,  '  not  unmenaced,'  but 
still  preserved  to  him  : 

'  Now  also  shall  the  page  of  classic  lore, 
To  these  glad  eyes  from  bondage  freed,  again 
Lie  open  ;  and  the  book  of  Holy  Writ, 

*  Vol.  iv.  p.  218. 

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HIS   CHILBBBlt'*  871 

Again  unfolded,  passage  clear  shall  yield 
To  heights  more  glorious  still,  dnd  into  shades 
More  awful,  where,  advancing  hand  in  hand, 
We  may  be  taught,  0  Darling  of  my  care ! 
To  calm  the  affections,  elevate  the  soul, 
And  consecrate  our  lives  to  truth  and  love.' 

The  poetical  portrait  which  he  has  drawn  of  his  beloved 
daughter  ought  to  find  a  place  here :  * 

'  Open,  ye  thickets !  let  her  fly, 
Swift  as  a  Thracian  Nymph,  o'er  field  and  height ! 
For  She,  to  all  but  those  who  love  her,  shy, 
Would  gladly  vanish  from  a  Stranger's  sight ; 
Though  where  she  is  beloved  and  loves, 
Light  as  the  wheeling  butterfly  she  moves ; 
Her  happy  spirit  as  a  bird  is  free 
That  rifles  blossoms  on  a  tree 
Turning  them  inside  out  with  arch  audacity. 
Alas !  how  little  can  a  moment  show 
Of  an  eye  where  feeling  plays 
In  ten  thousand  dewy  rays  ; 
A  face  o'er  which  a  thousand  shadows  go ! 
—  She  stops  —  is  fastened  to  that  rivulet's  side ; 
And  there  (while,  with  sedater  mien, 
O'er  timid  waters  that  have  scarcely  left 
Their  birth-place  in  the  rocky  cleft, 
She  bends)  at  leisure  may  be  seen 
Features  to  old  ideal  grace  allied, 
Amid  their  smiles  and  dimples  dignified  — 
Fit  countenance  for  the  soul  of  primal  truth } 
The  bland  composure  of  eternal  youth ! 

*  What  more  changeful  than  the  sea  I 
But  over  his  great  tides 
Fidelity  presides ; 

And  this  light-hearted  Maiden  constant  is  as  he. 
High  is  her  aim  as  heaven  above, 
And  wide  as  ether  her  good -will ; 

'  From  the  Triad,  vol.  ii.  p.  181. 

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S78  Bit  CBILDSSM. 

Andy  like  the  lowly  reed,  her  love 
Can  diink  its  nurture  from  the  scantiest  rill : 
Insight  as  keen  as  frosty  star 
Is  to  her  charity  no  har, 
Nor  internipts  her  fndic  graces 
When  she  is,  far  from  these  wild  places, 
^  Encircled  by  familiar  faces. 

'  0  the  charm  that  manners  draw, 
Nature,  from  thy  genuine  law ! 
If  from  what  her  hand  would  do. 
Her  voice  would  utter,  aught  ensue 
Untoward  or  unfit } 
She,  in  benign  affections  pure, 
In  self-forgetfnlness  secure, 

Sheds  round  the  transient  harm  or  vague  mischance 
A  light  unknown  to  tutored  elegance :  ^ 

Her's  is  not  a  cheek  shame-stricken, 
But  her  blushes  are  joy-fluslies ; 
And  the  fault  (if  fault  it  be) 
Only  ministers  to  quicken 
Laughter-loving  gaiety. 
And  kindle  sportive  wit — 
Leaving  this  Daughter  .of  the  mountains  free 
As  if  she  knew  that  Oberon,  king  of  Faery, 
Had  crossed  her  purpose  with  some  quaint  vagary. 
And  heard  his  viewless  bands 
Over  their  mirthful  triumph  clapping  hands.* 

The  influence  exercised  by  Wordsworth's  poetry  is  due, 
in  great  measure,  to  his  home,  as  well  as  to  his  heart.  He 
was  blessed,  in  a  remarkable  degree,  in  all  those  domestic 
relations  which  exercise  and  hallow  the  aflfections.  His 
cottage,  its  beautiful  neighbourhood,  the  happiness  he 
enjoyed  in  its  garden,  and  within  its  doors,  all  these 
breathed  a  moral  music  into  his  heart,  and  enabled  him  to 
pour  fourth  strains  which,  without  such  influences  upon 
him,  would  have  been  unheard,  and  which  have  made  him, 
what  he  is  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  poet  of  domestic  life. 

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HIS  CaiLDBSK.  878 

and  the  teacher  of  domestic  virtue.  If  he  had  not  been  a 
husband  and  a  father,  happy  in  his  children,  he  could 
never  have  drawn  that  beautiful  portrait, 

'  Loving  she  is,  and  tractable  though  wild/ ' 

in  which,  by  the  happiness  of  children  in  themselves,  he 
teaches  a  lesson  of  unambitiou&  contentment  to  all : 

'  This  happy  creature,  of  herself 
Is  all-sufficient,  —  solitude  to  her 
Is  blithe  society  : ' 

She  is  like 

'  the  faggot  that  sparkles  on  the  hearth, 
Not  less  when  unattended  and  alone 
Than  when  both  young  and  old  sit  gathered  round, 
And  take  delight  in  its  activity : ' 

a  beautiful  picture  of  self-forgetfulness,  suggested  by  his 
second  daughter,  Catharine,  then  three  years  old.  What 
his  children  were  to  the  painter  Albano,  that^  and  much 
more,  were  his  own  children  to  the  Poet  Wordsworth. 

Soon  after  these  lines  were  written,  Catharine,  and  her 
brother  Thomas,  who  was  two  years  and  eleven  weeks 
older,  were  taken  for  change  of  air  and  restoration  of 
health  to  the  sea-side,  on  the  coast  of  Cumberland,  under 
Black  Comb  (which  he  has  described  in  two  several 
poems  ^  written,*  after  this  visit,  in  1813),  near  Bootle,  of 
which  his  friend  Dr.  Satterthwaite  was  then  incumbent 
This  was  in  the  summer  of  1811.  The  journey  from 
Grasmere  to  the  sea-side  is  described  in  that  interesting 
and  beautiful  'Poetical  Epistle  to  Sir  George  Beau- 
mont : '  3 

'  Far  from  our  home,  by  Grasmere's  quiet  Lake, 
From  the  Vale's  peace  which  all  her  fields  partake, 

>  Vol.  i.  p.  150.  «  Vol.  ii.  p.  179 ;  vol.  v.  p.  62. 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  1. 

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9M  Bit  eiQL9su» 

Here  oa  the  bleakest  point  of  Cumbrim's  shore 
We  sojoom,  stunned  by  Ocean's  ceaseless  roar.' 

Concerning  this  '  Epistle  ^  Mr.  Wordsworth  dictated  the 
following  notices.^  ' 

Epistle  to  Sir  G,  H.  Beaumont^  Bart.  — '  This  poem 
opened,  when  first  written,  with  a  paragraph  that  has  been 
transferred  as  an  introduction  to  the  first  series  of  my 
**  Scotch  Memorials.^^     The  journey,  of  which  the  first 
part  is  here  described,  was  from  Grasmere  to  Bootle,  on 
the   south-west  coast  of  Cumberland,  the   whole  along 
mountain-roads,  through  a  beautiful  countiy,  and  we  had 
fine  weather.     The  verses  end  with  our  breakfast  at  the 
Head  of  Yewdale,  in  a  yeoman's  house,  which,  like  all  the 
other  property  in  that  sequestered  vale,  has  passed,  or  is 
passing,  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  James  Marshall,  of  Monk 
Coniston,  in  Mr.  Knott's,  the  late  owner's  time,  called  the 
Waterhead.     Our  hostess  married  a  Mr.  Oldfield,  a  lieu- 
tenant in  the  navy ;  they  lived  together  for  some  time  at 
Hackett,  where  she  still  resides  as  hi^  widow.     It  weis  in 
front  of  that  house,  on  the  mountain-side,  near  which  stood 
the  peasant  who,  while  we  were  passing  at  a  distance, 
saluted  us,  waving  a  kerchief  in  his  hand,  as  described 
in  the  poem.    The  dog,  which  we  met  soon  af^er  our 
starting,  had  belonged  to  Mr.  Rowlandson,  who  for  forty 
years  was  curate  at  Grasmere,  in  place  of  the  rector,  who 
lived  to  extreme  old  age,  in  a  state  of  insanity.     Of  this 
Mr.  R.  much  might  be  said,  both  with  reference  to  his 
character,  and  the  way  in  which  he  was  regarded  by  his 
parishioners.     He  was  a  man  of  a  robust  frame,  had  a 
firm  voice  and  authoritative   manner,  of  strong  natural 
talents,  of  which  he  was  himself  conscious.*    Some  anec* 
dotes  were  then  told  by  Mr.  W.  of  his  character,  which  are 


» MSS.  I.  F, 


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JI18  csitBasH.  ST5 

omitted  here.  He  proceeded  as  follows :  *•  Notwithstand* 
lug  all  that  has  been  said,  this  man,  on  account  of  hm 
talents  and  superior  education,  was  looked  up  to  by  his 
parishioners,  who,  without  a  single  exception,  lived  at  tlial 
time  (and  most  of  them  upon  their  own  small  inheritaoces) 
in  a  state  of  republican  equality,  a  condition  favourable  to 
the  growth  of  kindly  feelings  among  them,  and,  in  a  strik* 
ing  degree,  exclusive  to  temptations,  to  gross  vice  and 
scandalous  behaviour.  As  a  pastor,  their  curate  did  little 
or  nothing  for  them :  but  what  could  more  strikingly  set 
forth  the  efficacy  of  the  Church  of  England,  through  ils 
Ordinances  and  Liturgy,  than  that,  in  spite  of  the  unwor* 
thiness  of  the  minister,  his  church  was  regularly  attended; 
and  though  there  was  not  much  appearance  in  his  floek  of 
what  may  be  called  animated  piety,  intoxication  was  ravai 
and  dissolute  morals  unknown?  With  the  Bible  they 
were,  for  the  most  part,  well  acquainted,  and,  as  was 
strikingly  shown  when  they  were  under  afHiction,  ouist 
have  been  supported  and  comforted  by  habitual  belief  im 
those  truths  which  it  is  the  aim  of  the  Church  to  incul* 
cate.* 

Loughrigg  Tom.  — '  This  beautiful  pool,  and  the  sur* 
loanding  scene,  are  minutely  described  in  ray  little  Book 
pn  the  Lakes.'  ^ 

^  Sir  G.  B.,  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  life,  was  induced, 
by  his  love  of  nature  and  the  art  of  painting,  to  take  up 
his  abode  at  Old  Brathay,  about  three  miles  from  this  spot, 
so  diat  he  must  have  seen  it  under  many  aspects  ;  and  he 
was  so  much  pleased  with  it,  that  he  purchased  the  Tam 
with  a  view  to  build  such  a  residence  as  is  alluded  to  ia 
this  *'  Epistle.''  The  project  of  building  was  given  «ip, 
Sir  6.  B.  retaining  possession  of  the  Tam.    Many  yean 

^  Page  2i,  edit.  1823. 

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9H  HIS  CHILDBBH, 

afterwards,  a  Kendall  tradesman,  bom  upon  its  banks, 
applied  to  me  for  the  purchase  of  it,  and,  accordingly,  it 
was  sold  for  the  sum  that  had  been  given  for  it,  and  the 
money  was  laid  out,  under  my  direction,  upon  a  sobstaii'^ 
tial  oak  fence  for  a  certain  number  of  yew-trees,  to  be 
planted  in  Grasmere  Churchyard.  Two  were  planted  in 
each  enclosure,  with  a  view  to  remove,  after  a  certain 
iime,  the  one  which  throve  the  least.  After  several  years, 
die  stouter  plant  being  left,  the  others  were  taken  up,  and 
placed  in  other  parts  of  the  same  churchyard,  and  were 
adequately  fenced  at  the  expense  and  under  the  care  of 
the  late  Mr.  Barber,  Mr.  Greenwood,  and  myself.  The 
whole  eight  are  now  thriving,  and  are  an  ornament  to  a 
place  which,  during  late  years,  has  lost  much  of  its  rustic 
simplicity  by  the  introduction  of  iron  palisades,  to  fence 
off  family  bur3ring-grounds,  and  by  numerous  monuments^ 
some  of  them  in  very  bad  taste,  from  which  this  place  of 
burial  was  in  my  memory  quite  free  :  see  the  lines  in  the 
mxth  book  of  "The  Excursion,"  beginning, 

"  Green  is  the  Churchyard." 

*  The  "  Epistle,"  to  which  these  notes  refer,  though 
written  so  far  back  as  1811,  was  carefully  revised  so  late 
as  1842,  previous  to  its  publication.  I  am  loath  to  add, 
that  it  was  never  seen  by  the  person  to  whom  it  is  ad- 
dressed. So  sensible  am  I  of  the  deficiencies  in  all  that  I 
write,  and  so  far  does  every  thing  that  I  attempt  fall  short 
of  what  I  wish  it  to  be,  that  even  private  publication,  if 
such  a  term  may  be  allowed,  requires  more  resolution 
than  I  can  command.  I  have  written  to  give  vent  to  my 
own  mind,  and  not  without  hope  that,  some  time  or  other, 
kindred  minds  might  benefit  by  my  labours  ;  but  I  am  in- 
clined to  believe  I  should  never  have  ventured  to  send 
forth'  any  verses  of  mine  to  the  world,  if  it  had  not  been 

Digitized  by  VjOOQIC 


BIS  CHILDRSH.  S77 

done  on  the  pressure  of  personal  occasions.  Had  I  been  a 
rich  man,  my  productions,  like  this  ^^  Epistle,"  the  ^^  Trag- 
edy of  the  Borderers,"  dz^c,  would  most  likely  have  been 
confined  to  MS.' 

So  far  Mr.  Wordsworth.  But,  to  return  to  the  subject 
of  the  '  Epistle.' 

The  progress  of  the  party  on  what  the  Poet  calls  their 
'  gipsy  travel,'  from  their  cottage-home  to  their  place  of 
destination,  is  the  subject  of  this  ^  Epistle,'  which  makes 
a  very  picturesque  chapter  in  the  history  of  his  domestic 
life.  The  wain  appears  standing  at  his  cottage-door, 
early  in  the  morning,  to  be  '  freighted  thoughtfully  with  a 
various  store  ; '  the  servant-girl,  '  lightsome  Fanny,',  is 
the  blooming  lass  seated  as  charioteer  upon  it,  —  a  pleas- 
ing feature  in  the  picture,  showing  how  much  affectionate 
freedom,  blended  with  respect,  subsisted  in  the  intercourse 
between  the  servants  of  the  household  and  the  master , 
and  then,  near  her,  in  the  vehicle,  the  two  children, 

'  Those  Infants  dear 
A  pair  who  smilingly  sat,  side  by  side, 
Our  hope  confirming,  that  the  salt  sea-side. 
Whose  free  embraces  we  were  bound  to  seek, 
Would  their  lost  strength  restore,  and  freshen  the  pale  cheek.' 

Then,  to  complete  the  picture,  the  Poet  and  his  wife, 
something  in  patriarchal  guise  (as  he  himself  says),  fol- 
low in  the  rear  of  the  caravan,  as  it  moves  slowly  up  the 
hill,  from  the  Vale  of  Grasmere,  towards  Red  Bank  and 
Loughrigg  Tarn.  Full  of  expectation  they  were  of  the 
good  effects  of  the  sea-breezes  and  sea-bathing  : 

'  Such  hope  did  either  parent  entertain, 
Pacing  behind,  along  the  silent  lane.' 

A  beautiful  domestic  landscape,  worthy  of  the  pencil  of 
Gainsborough  I 

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We  may  not  pause  here,  to  look  at  the  other  objects  in 
the  picture,  —  the  cumte^s  ^  dog,  his  old  and  faithful  Ar- 
gus ;  Loughrigg  Tarn  ;  the  salutation  from  the  hill ;  the 
hay-making  in  Yewdale  ;  the  arrival  at  the  Grange ;  the 
breakfast*tab]e  prepared  ;  the  cottage  comforts ;  and  the 
kind  and  joyous  looks  of  the  fair  hostess. 

But,  alas  I  this  hopeful  journey  was  soon  followed  by 
padness: 

'  Soon  did  the  Almighty  Giver  of  all  rest 
Take  those  dear  yonag  ones  to  a  fearless  nest.'  * 

Soon,  too  soon,  was  the  Poet  constrained  to  address  her  in 
sorrow,  who  had  walked  by  his  side  in  hope : 

'  In  trellised  shed  with  clastering  roses  gay, 
And,  Mart  !  oft  beside  our  blazing  fire,  , 

When  years  of  wedded  life  were  as  a  day 
Whose  current  answers  to  the  heart's  desire, 
Did  we  together  read  in  Spenser's  lay, 
How  Una,  sad  of  soul,  —  in  sad  attire. 
The  gentle  Una,  of  celestial  birth. 
To  seek  her  knight  went  wandering  o'er  the  earth. 

Notes  could  we  hear,  as  of  a  faery  shell 

Attuned  to  words  with  sacred  wisdom  fraught ;  .  .  . 

Till,  in  the  bosom  of  our  rustic  cell. 

We  by  a  lamentable  change  were  taught 

That  "  bliss  with  mortal  man  may  not  abide,"  — 

How  nearly  joy  and  sorrow  are  allied.'  • 

In  the  affecting  poem,  entitled  **  Maternal  Grief,"  *  such 
sensations  as  thrilled  through  the  heart  of  these  two  loving 
and  beloved  children,  are  most  feelingly  portrayed. 

'  The  Rev.  Mr.  Rowlandson,  fifty  years  curate  of  Grasmere. 

«  Vol.  v.  p.  9. 

»  Dedication  of  White  Doe,  Tol.  ir.  p.  1. 

*  Vol.  i.  p.  236. 

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JiX8  C1U9RSR.  tn 

In  the  next  summer,  one  of  them,  Catharine,  was  sud* 
denly  removed  hy  death,  ^In  the  morning  it  is  green, 
and  groweth  up,  but  in  the  evening  it  is  cut  down,  dried 
up,  and  withered.'  Such  were  the  words  uttered  by  one 
of  her  brothers,  on  the  previous  day,  quite  uncon^ 
flciously,  and  without  any  reference  to  his  sister,  and  in  a 
few  hours,  4th  of  June,  18 12,  they  were  verified  in  her. 
She  was  buried  in  Grasmere  Churchyard.  ^  Suffer  the 
little  children  to  come  unto  me,  for  of  such  is  the  kingdom 
of  God,'  is  inscribed  on  her  tomb.  The  feelings  of  her 
father  at  this  sad  loss  are  expressed  in  one  .of  his  sonnets.^ 
Suggestions  of  comfort  are  presented  to  his  mind  in  an- 
other poem.^  The  other  of  the  two  children,  her  brother 
Thomas,  appeared  to  be  restored  to  health  ;  he  was  a  boy 
of  much  promise,  dutiful,  regular,  methodical,  affectionate. 
His  pleasure  was  to  go  to  Grasmere  Churchyard,  and 
sweep  the  leaves  from  his  sister's  grave  ;  but  he,  too,  was 
unexpectedly  taken  away.  He  was  attacked  by  the 
measles,  but  seemed  to  be  recovering  from  them  when  he 
was  seized  by  a  cough  and  inflammation,  and  died  on 
December  1st,  1812.  They  both  now  lie  side  by  side  in 
Grasmere  Churchyard. 

'  Six  months  to  six  years  added  he  remained, 
Upon  this  sinful  earth,  by  sin  unstained. 
0  blessed  Lord !  whose  mercy  then  removed 
A  child  whom  every  eye  that  looked  on  loved, 
Support  as !  teach  us  calmly  to  resign 
What  we  possessed,  and  now  is  wholly  thine.' ' 

Such  are  the  lines  inscribed  by  the  Poet's  hand  on  his 
child's  grave. 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  273,  '  Surprised  by  Joy,'  Ace. 
>  Vol.  ii.  p.  291, '  Desp^ding  Father.' 
•Vol.  V.  p.  121. 

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S80  Hit  CKILDKBH. 

There  is  a  beautiful  letter  from  Mr.  Southey's  pen 
in  his  correspondence^  on  this  and  other  like  bereave- 
ments. 

Nearly  twenty-four  years  passed  away  before  death 
came  again  to  his  house.  In  1836  (January  1st)  Sarah 
Hutchinson,  his  wife^s  sister,  dear  to  him  as  an  own  sister, 
was  taken  away,  and  carried  to  the  same  churchyard. 
His  beloved  daughter  followed  in  1847  (July  9th),  and 
now  he  himself  is  gathered  to  the  same  place. 

» Vol.  iv.  p.  13. 


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CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

CONVENTION   OF  CINTRA. 

It  has  already  been  mentioned,  that  in  1807,  Words- 
worth^s  family  had  become  too  numerous  to  be  contained 
in  the  cottage,  which  had,  up  to  that  time,  been  his  abode 
in  Grasmere.  When,  therefore,  they  returned  from  Cole- 
orton,  he  looked  around  for  another  abode.  A  new  house 
was  just  rising  above  the  head  of  the  lake,  and  to  the 
north  of  it  Allan  Bank.  Thither  he  migrated  in  the 
spring  of  1808,  and  there  he  resided  for  three  years. 

This  period  does  not  appear  to  have  been  very  prolific 
in  poetry,  —  a  circumstance  which,  perhaps,  may  be  at- 
tributed, in  some  degree,  to  the  great  inconveniences  of 
this  new  residence.  The  chimneys  smoked ;  the  rooms 
were  hardly  finished ;  the  grounds  were  to  be  laid  out ; 
the  workmen  were  still  on  the  premises ;  there  was  little 
of  the  repose  favourable  to  the  Muses.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  time  of  this  sojourn  at  Allan  Bank  was  rendered 
memorable  by  the  production  of  two  works  in  prose,  by 
two  Poets :  the  '  Essay  on  the  Convention  of  Cintba,' 
by  Wordsworth,  and  '  The  Feiend,'  '  by  Coleridge,  who 
dictated  it  (for  he  did  not  write  it  with  his  own  hand) 
vnder  Wordsworth's  roof.  The  first  number  appeared 
June  1st,  1809;  the  last,  March  25th,  1810. 

Much  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  life  was  spent  in  compara- 

*  The  title  is  as  follows  :  '  The  Friewd  ;  A  Literary,  Moral,  and 
Political  Weekly  Paper,  excluding  personal  and  party  politics,  and 
the  events  of  the  day.  Conducted  by  S.  T.  Colseidob,  of  Gras- 
mere, Westmoreland.'  ^      _  T  V^ooIp 

'  Digitized  by  VjOOv  Ic 


CONYBHTION   OF  CINTRA. 

tive  retirement,  and  a  great  part  of  his  poetry  coDGems 
natural  and  quiet  objects.  But  it  would  be  a  great  error 
to  imagine  that  he  was  not  an  attentive  observer  of  public 
events.  He  was  an  ardent  lover  of  his  country,  and  of 
mankind.  He  watched  the  progress  of  civil  affairs  in 
England  with  a  vigilant  eye,  and  he  brought  the  actions 
of  public  men  to  the  test  of  the  great  and  lasting  princi- 
ples of  equity  and  truth.  He  extended  his  range  of  view 
to  events  in  foreign  parts,  especially  on  the  continent  of 
Europe.  Few  persons,  though  actually  engaged  in  the 
great  struggle  of  that  period,  felt  more  deeply  than  Mr. 
Wordsworth  did  in  his  peaceful  retreat,  for  the  calamities 
of  European  nations  suffering  at  that  time  from  the  imbe- 
cility of  their  governments,  and  from  the  withering  op- 
pression of  a  prosperous  despotism.  His  heart  burned 
within  him  when  he  looked  forth  upon  the  contest ;  and 
impassioned  words  proceeded  from  him,  both  in  poetry 
and  prose.  The  contemplative  calmness  of  his  position, 
and  the  depth  and  intensity  of  his  feelings,  combined 
together  to  give  a  dignity  and  clearness,  a  vigour  and  a 
splendour,  and,  consequently,  a  lasting  value,  to  his 
writings  on  measures  of  domestic  and  foreign  policy, 
qualities  that  rarely  belong  to  contemporaneous  political 
effusions  produced  by  those  engaged  in  the  heat  and  din 
of  the  battle.  This  remark  is  specially  applicable  to  his 
tract  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra  : 

'  Not  'mid  the  world's  vain  objects  that  enslave 
The  free-born  soul,  —  that  world  whose  vaunted  skill, 
In  selfish  interest  perverts  the  will,  * 

Whose  factions  lead  astray  the  wise  and  brave,  — 
Not  there,  —  but  in  dark  wood,  and  rocky  cave, 
And  hollow  vale,  — 

Here,  mighty  Nature !  in  this  school  sublime 
I  weigh  the  hopes  and  fears  of  saffering  Spain.'  > 

*  Vol.  iii.  p.  73.  Digitized  by  Google 


CONVENTIOlf  09  CINTKA. 

The  earnestness  with  which  he  watched  the  course  of  the 
peninsular  war,  was  thus  described  in  conversation  by 
himself:  ^It  would  not  be  easy  to  conceive  with  what  a 
depth  of  feeling  I  entered  into  the  struggle  carried  on  by 
the  Spaniards  for  their  deliverance  from  the  usurped  power 
of  the  French.  Many  times  have  I  gone  from  Allan  Bank 
in  Grasmere  Valfe,  where  we  were  then  residing,  to  the 
Raise-Gap,  as  it  is  called,  so  late  as  two  o^clock  in  the 
morning,  to  meet  the  carrier  bringing  the  newspaper  from 
Keswick.  Imperfect  traces  of  the  state  of  mind  in  which  I 
then  was  may  be  found  in  my  tract  on  the  Convention  of 
Cintra,  as  well  as  in  the  "  Sonnets  dedicated  to  Liberty.'* '  ^ 
The  three  following  letters  to  Archdeacon  Wrangham 
belong  to  this  period;  and  the  two  latter  may  serve  to 
give  a  sketch  of  the  author's  design  in  his  work  on  the 
Convention  of  Cintra,  which  was  published  at  the  end 
of  May,  1609.3 

»  MSS.  I.  F. 

*  The  title  is  as  follows :  *  ConcerniDg  the  relations  of  Great 
Britain,  Spain,  and  Portugal,  to  each  other,  and  to  the  common 
enemy,  at  this  crisis  ;  and  specifically  as  affected  by  the  Conven- 
tion of  Cintra.  The  whole  brought  to  the  test  of  those  principles 
by  which  alone  the  independence  and  freedom  of  nations  can  be 
preserved  or  recovered. 

Qui  didicit  patriae  quid  debeat ; 

Quod  sit  conscripti,  quod  judicis  officinm ;  quae 

Partes  in  bellum  missi  ducis.* 

By  William  Wordsworth. 
London:  Printed  for  Longman,  Hurst,  Rees,  and  Orme,  Pater- 
noster Row,  1809.' 
The  Appendix,  a  portion  of  the  work  which  Mr.  Wordsworth 
regarded  as  executed  in  a  masterly  manner,  was  drawn  up  by  Mr. 
De  Quincey,  who  revised  the  proofs  of  the  whole. 

*  [On  the  reverse  of  the  title.page  there  is  another  motto,  appro- 
priate and  expressive,  as  follows : 

<  Bitter  and  earnest  writing  must  not  hastily  be  condemned ;  for 

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IS4  COMVSIITIOIf  OF  CINTftA. 

ne  Rev.  Francis  Wramgham^  Jbnnmanby^  near 
Bridlington^  Yorkshire. 

'  Grusmsre,  Oa.  2,  1808. 
^  My  dear  Wrangham, 

*  In  what  are  you  employed  —  I  mean  by  way  of  amuse- 
ment  and  relaxation  from  your  professional  duties  ?  Is 
there  any  topographical  history  of  your  neighbourhood  ? 
I  remember  reading  Whitens  Natural  History  and  Antiqui- 
ties of  Selboume  with  great  pleasure,  when  a  boy  at 
school,  and  I  have  lately  read  Dr.  Whitaker^s  History  of 
Craven  and  Whalley,  both  with  profit  and  pleasure.  Would 
it  not  be  worth  your  while  to  give  some  of  your  leisure 
hours  to  a  work  of  this  kind,  making  those  works  partly 
your  model,  and  adding  thereto  from  the  originality  of 
your  own  mind  ? 

'  With  your  activity  you  might  produce  something  of 
this  kind  of  general  interest,  taking  for  your  limit  any 
division  in  your  neighbourhood,  natural,  ecclesiastical,  or 
civil :  suppose,  for  example,  the  coast  from  the  borders  of 
Cleveland,  or  from  Scarborough,  to  Spurnhead  ;  and  in- 
ward into  the  country,  to  any  boundary  that  you  might 
approve  of.  Pray  think  of  this.  I  am  induced  to  men- 
tion it  from  the  belief  that  you  are  admirably  qualified 
for  such  a  work ;  that  it  would  pleasantly  employ  your 
leisure  hours  ;  and  from  a  regret  in  seeing  works  of  this 

men  cannot  contend  coldly,  and  without  affection,  about  things 
which  they  hold  dear  and  precious.  A  politic  man  may  write 
from  his  brain,  without  touch  and  sense  of  his  heart,  as  in  a  spec- 
ulation that  appertained  not  unto  him  ;  but  a  feeling  Christian  will 
expresF,  in  his  words,  a  character  of  zeal  or  love.'  —  Lord  Bacon, 

H.  R.] 

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CONVEKTION   OF  GINTEA.  885 

kind,  which  might  he  made  so  very  interesting,  utterly 
marred  by  falling  into  the  hands  of  wretched  bunglers, 
€.  g.  the  history  of  Cleveland,  which  I  have  just  i'ead,  by 

a  Clergyman  of ,  the  most  heavy  performance  I  ever 

encountered  ;  and  what  an  interesting  district  I  Pray  let 
me  hear  from  you  soon. 

*  Affectionately  and  sincerely  yours, 

'  W.    WOKDSWORTH.' 

'  Grasmere,  December  3,  1808. 
*  My  dear  Wrangham, 
'  On  the  other    side  you  have  the   prospectus  of  a 
weekly  essay  intended  to  be  published  by  your  friend 
Coleridge. 

•  ••••• 

*Your  Sermon  did  not  reach  me  till  the  night  before 
last;  we  have  all  read  it,  and  are  much  pleased  with 
it  Upon  the  whole,  I  like  it  better  than  the  last :  it  must 
have  been^  heard  with  great  interest.  I  differ,  however, 
from  you  in  a  few  particulars.  1st.  The  Spaniards  "  de- 
voting themselves  for  an  imprisoned  Bourbon,  or  the 
crumbling  relics  of  the  Inquisition."  This  is  very  fair 
for  pointing  a  sentence,  but  it  is  not  the  truth.  They 
have  told  us  over  and  over  again,  that  they  are  fighting 
against  a  foreign  tyrant^  who  has  dealt  with  them  most 
perfidiously  and  inhumanly,  who  must  hate  them  for  their 
worth,  and  on  account  of  the  injuries  they  have  received 
from  him,  and  whom  they  must  hate  accordingly :  against 
a  ruler  over  whom  they  could  have  no  control,  and /or  one 
whom  they  have  told  us  they  will  establish  as  a  sovereign 
of  a/ree  people,  and  therefore  must  he  himself  be  a  limited 
monarch.  You  will  permit  me  to  make  to  you  this  repre- 
sentation for  its  truth^s  sake,  and  because  it  gives  me  an 
opportunity  of  letting  out  a  secret,  viz.  that  I  myself  am 

VOL  I.  '      35 

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886  CONTSMTION  OF  CINTftA* 

very  deep  in  this  sobject,  and  about  to  pnblish  upon  it, 
first,  I  believe,  in  a  newspaper,  for  the  sake  of  immedi- 
ate and  wide  circulation ;  and  next,  the  same  matter  in  a 
separate  pamphlet,^  under  the  title  of  the  ^^  (Convention  of 
Cintra  brought  to  the  test  of  principles,  and  the  people  of 
Great  Britain  vindicated  from  the  chai^  of  having  pre- 
judged it."  You  will  wonder  to  hear  me  talk  of  princi- 
ples when  I  have  told  you  that  I  also  do  not  go  along  with 
you  in  your  sentiments  respecting  the  Roman  Catholic 
question.  I  confess  I  am  not  prepared  to  see  the  Roman 
Catholic  religion  as  the  Established  Church  of  Ireland ; 
and  how  that  can  be  consistently  refused  to  them,  if  other 
things  are  granted  on  the  plea  of  their  being  the  majority, 
I  do  not  see.  Certainly  this  demand  will  follow^  and  how 
would  it  be  answered  ? 

*  There  is  yet  another  circumstance  in  which  I  differ 
from  you.  If  Dr.  BelPs  plan  of  education  be  of  that 
importance  which  it  appears  to  be  of,  it  cannot  be  a  matter 
of  indifference  whether  he  or  Lancaster  have  a  rigfatfiid 
claim  to  the  invention.  For  Heaven's  sake  let  all  bene- 
factors of  their  species  have  the  honour  due  to  them. 
Virgil  gives  a  high  place  in  Elysium  to  the  improvers  of 
life,  and  it  is  neither  the  least  philosophicai  or  least  poetical 
passage  of  the  Mneid,  ^  These  points  of  difference  being 
stated,  I  may  say^  that  in  other  things  I  greatly  approve 
both  of  the  matter  and  manner  of  your  Sermon. 

'  Do  not  fail  to  return  my  best  thanks  to  the  lady  to 
whom  I  am  obliged  for  the  elegant  and  accurate  drawing 
of  Broughton  Church.  I  should  have  written  to  thank  her 
and  you  for  it  immediately,  but  I  foresaw  that  I  should 
have  occasion  to  write  to  you  on  this  or  other  business. 

'All  here  desire  their  best  remembrances ;  and  believe 

» <  Quique  sui  memoKs  alios  fecere  merendo.'  —  JBi.  vi.  664. 

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CONVENTION    OF   CINTRA.  887 

me  (in  great  haste,  for  I  have  several  other  letters  to  write 
on  the  same  subject),  affectionately  yours, 

'  W.  WOKDSWOETH.* 

*  Workington,  April  3,  1809. 
*  My  dear  Wrangham, 
*  You  will  think  I  am  afraid  that  I  have  used  you  ill  in 
not  replying  sooner  to  your  last  letter ;  particularly  as  you 
were  desirous  to  be  informed  in  what  newspaper  my 
Pamphlet  was  printing.  I  should  not  have  failed  to  give 
you  immediately  any  information  upon  this  subject  which 
could  be  of  use ;  but  in  fact,  though  I  began  to  publish  in 
a  newspaper,  viz.,  "  The  Courier,"  an  accidental  loss  of 
two  or  three  sheets  of  the  manuscript  prevented  me  from 
going  on  in  that  mode  of  publication  after  two  sections  had 
appeared.  The  Pamphlet  will  be  out  in  less  than  a  fort- 
night, entitled,  at  full  length,  "  Concerning  the  relations 
of  Great  Britain,  Spain,  and  Portugal,  to  each  other,  and 
to  the  common  enemy  at  this  crisfis,  and  specifically  as 
affected  by  the  Convention  of  Cintra ;  the  whole  brought 
to  the  test  of  those  principles  by  which  alone  the  inde- 
pendence and  freedom  of  nations  can  be  preserved  or 
recovered."  This  is  less  a  Title  than  a  TablQ  of  Con- 
tents. I  give  it  you  at  full  length,  in  order  that  you  may 
set  your  fancy  at  work  (if  you  have  no  better  employment 
for  it)  upon  what  the  Pamphlet  may  contain.  I  sent  off 
the  last  sheets  only  a  day  or  two  since,  else  I  should  have 
written  to  you  so6ner;  it  having  been  my  intention  to  pay 
my  debt  to  you  the  moment  I  had  discharged  this  debt  to 
my  country.  What  I  have  written  has  been  done  accord- 
ing to  the  best  light  of  my  conscience  :  it  is  indeed  very 
imperfect,  and  will,  1  fear,  be  little  read  ;  but  if  it  is  read, 
cannot,  I  hope,  fail  of  doing  some  good ;  though  I  am 
aware  it  will  create  me  a  world  of  enemies,  and  call  forth 

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CONVBIITION    OF   CINTBA. 

the  old  yell  of  Jacobinism.     I  have  not  sent  it  to  any  per- 
sonal friends  as  such,  therefore  I  have  made  no  exception 
in  your  case.     I  have  ordered  it  to  be  sent  to  two,  the 
Spanish  and  Portuguese  Ambassadors,  and  three  or  four 
other  public  men  and  Members  of  Parliament,  but  to  no- 
body of  my  friends  and  relations.     It  is  printed  with  my 
name,  and,  I  believe,  will  be  published  by  Longman.  .  .  . 
I  am  very  happy  that  you  have  not  been  inattentive  to  my 
suggestion  on  the  subject  of  Topography.     When  I  ven- 
tured to  recommend  the  pursuit  to  you,  I  did  not  for  a 
moment  suppose  that  it  was  to  interfere  with  your  appro- 
priate duties  as  a  parish  priest ;  far  otherwise :  but  I  know 
you  arq  of  an  active  mind,  and  I  am  sure  that  a  portion  of 
your  time  might  be  thus  employed  without  any  deduction 
from  that  which  was  due  to  your  professional  engage- 
ments.    It  would  be  a  recreation  to  you ;  and  also  it  does 
appear  to  me  that  records  of  this  kind  ought  to  be  executed 
by  somebody  or  other,  both  for  the  instruction  of  those 
now  living  and  for  the  sake  of  posterity ;  and  if  so,  the 
duty  devolves  more  naturally  upon  clergymen  than  upon 
other  persons,  as  their  opportunities  and  qualifications  are 
both  likely  to  be  better  than  those  of  other  men.     If  you 
have  not  seen  White's  and  Whitaker's  books,  do  procure 
a  sight  of  them. 

'  I  was  aware  that  you  would  think  me  fair  game  upon 
the  Roman  Catholic  question  ;  but  really  I  should  be 
greatly  obliged  to  any  man  who  would  help  me  over  the 
difficulty  1  stated.  If  the  Koman  Catholics,  upon  the  plea 
of  their  being  the  majority  merely  (which  implies  an  ad- 
mission on  our  part  that  their  profession  of  faith  is  in  itself 
as  good  as  ours,  as  consistent  with  civil  liberty),  if  they 
are  to  have  their  requests  accorded,  how  can  they  be  re- 
fused (consistently)  the  further  prayer  of  being  constituted, 
upon  the  same  plea,  the  Established  Church  ?     I  confess 


CONVENTION    OP   CINTRA.  389 

I  am  not  prepared  for  this.  With  the  Methodists  on  one 
side  and  the  Catholics  on  the  other,  what  is  to  become  of 
the  poor  church  and  the  people  of  England  ?  to  both  of 
which  I  am  most  tenderly  attached,  and  to  the  former  not 
the  less  so,  on  account  of  the  pretty  little  spire  of  Brough- 
ton  Parish  Church,  under  which  you  and  I  were  made 
happy  men  by  the  gift  from  Providence  of  two  excellent 
wives.  To  Mrs.  Wrangham  present  my  cordial  regards, 
and  believe  me,  dear  Wrangham,  your  very 
'  sincere  and  affectionate  friend, 

*  W.    WOEDSWOKTH.' 

The  following  is  to  the  Earl  of  Lonsdale. 

To  Lord  Lonsdale, 

*Grasmere,  May  25,  [1809.] 
'  My  Lord, 

'  I  had  also  another  reason  for  deferring  this  acknowl- 
edgment to  your  Lordship,  viz.  that  at  the  same  time  I 
wished  to  present  to  you  a  Tract  which  I  have  lately 
written,  and  which  I  hope  you  have  now  received.  It 
was  finished,  and  ought  to  have  appeared,  two  months  ago, 
but  has  been  delayed  by  circumstances  (connected  with 
my  distance  from  the  press)  over  which  I  had  no  control. 
If  this  Tract  should  so  far  interest  your  Lordship  as  to 
induce  you  to  peruse  it,  I  do  not  doubt  that  it  will  be 
thoughtfully  and  candidly  judged  by  you  ;  in  which  case  I 
fear  no  censure,  but  that  which  every  man  is  liable  to 
who,  w)th  good  intentions,  may  have  occasionally  fallen 
into  error  ;  while  at  the  same  time  I  have  an  entire  confi- 
dence that  the  principles  which  I  have  endeavoured  to  up- 
hold must  have  the  sanction  of  a  mind  distinguished,  like 

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880  coxysNTioN  of  ciktia. 

that  of  your  Lordship,  for  regard  to  morality  and  religion, 
and  the  true  dignity  and  honour  of  your  country. 

•  •  •  •  •  •  • 

*  May  I  beg  of  your  Lordship  to  present  my  respectful 
compliments  to  Lady  Lonsdale  ? 

*  I  have  the  honour  to  be, 
*  My  Lord, 

'  Your  Lordship^s 

^  Most  obedient  servant, 

*W.  WoBDSWOJlTH. 

The  following,  written  some  years  after  to  his  friend 
Southey,  may  well  find  a  place  here. 

'  My  dear  Southey, ' 
'  Col.  Campbell,  our  neighbour  at  G.,  has  sent  for  your 
book  ;  he  served  during  the  whole  of  the  Peninsular  war, 

1  Mr.  Southey's  opinions  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra,  at  the 
time  of  its  ratification,  were  in  unison  with  those  of  his  friend. 
See  Southey's  Correspondence,'  vol.  iii.  p.  177-180.  * 

*  [See  also  Southey's  more  vehement  expressions  of  feeling  on 
the  subject  in  his  letters  to  William  Taylor  of  Norwich.  In  a  let- 
ter dated  Keswick,  Nov.  6, 1808,  he  says,  ■— '  We  have  been  trying 
(0  get  a  county  meeting  here  about  this  cursed  Convention,  but  in 
vain.  Lord  Lonsdale,  who  is  omnipotent  here,  '*  sees  it  in  a  very 
different  light ; "  and  it  is  better  not  to  stir  than  to  be  beaten. 
However,  as  we  cannot  get  our  sentiments  on  the  subject  embodied 
in  this  form,  there  yet  remains  another,  which  to  my  mind  is  bet* 
ter ;  and  Wordsworth  is  about  to  write  a  pamphlet,  in  which  he 
will  take  up  the  business  in  its  true  light.'  Life  of  Taylor,  Ydl,  II. 
p.  227.  And  again,  in  a  letter  dated  Keswick,  Dec.  6,  1808,  — 
'  Wordsworth's  pamphlet  upon  the  cursed  Cintra  Convention  will 
be  in  that  strain  of  political  morality  to  which  Hutchinson  and 
ifllton,  and  Sidney,  could  have  set  their  hands.'  Vol.  11.  p.  232. 
—  H.  a.] 

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CONYEMTIOlf  OF  OINTBjU  391 

and  you  shall  hear  what  he  says  of  it  in  due  course.  We 
are  out  of  the  way  of  all  literary  communication,  so  I  can 
report  nothing.  I  have  read  the  whole  with  great  plea- 
sure ;  the  work  will  do  you  everlasting  honour.  I  have 
said  the  tohoh^  forgettmg,  in  that  contemplation,  my  feel- 
ings  upon  one  part,  where  you  have  tickled  with  a  feather 
when  you  should  have  branded  with  a  red-hot  iron.  You 
will  guess  I  mean  the  Convention  of  Cintra.  My  detesta- 
tion, I  may  say,  abhorrence,  of  that  event  is  not  at  all 
dimini^ed  by  your  account  of  it.  Buonaparte  had  com- 
mitted a  capital  blunder  in  supposing  that  when  he  had 
intimidated  the  Sovereigns  of  Europe  he  had  conquered 
the  several  Nations.  Yet  it  was  natural  for  a  wiser  than 
he  was  to  have  fallen  into  this  mistake  ;  for  the  old  despo- 
tisms had  deprived  the  body  of  the  people  of  all  practical 
knowledge  in  the  management,  and,  of  necessity,  of  all 
interest,  in  the  course  of  afiairs.  The  French  themselves 
were  astonished  at  the  apathy  and  ignorance  of  the  peo- 
ple whom  they  had  supposed  they  had  utterly  subdued, 
when  they  had  taken  their  .fortresses,  scattered  their 
armies,  entered  their  capital  cities,  and  struck  their  cabi- 
nets with  dismay.  There  was  no  hope  for  the  deliver- 
ance of  Europe  till  the  nations  had  suffered  enough  to  be 
driven  to  a  passionate  recollection  of  all  that  was  honour- 
able in  their  past  history,  and  to  make  appeal  to  the 
principles  of  universal  and  everlasting  justice.  These 
sentiments,  the  authors  of  that  Convention  most  unfeel- 
ingly violated ;  and  as  to  the  principles,  they  seemed  to 
be  as  little  aware,  even  of  the  existence  of  such  powers, 
for  powers  emphatically  may  they  be  called,  as  the  tyrant 
himself.  As  far,  therefore,  as  these  men  could,  they  put 
an  extinguisher  upon  the  star  which  was  then  rising.  It 
is  in  vain  to  say  that  after  the  first  burst  of  indignation 
was  over,  the  Portuguese  themselves  were  reconciled  to 

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oomnimoii  of  cnrrmA* 

the  event,  and  rejoiced  in  their  deliverance.  We  may 
infer  from  that,  the  horror  which  they  must  have  felt  in 
the  presence  of  their  oppressors ;  and  we  may  see  in  it 
to  what  a  state  of  helplessness  their  had  government  had 
reduced  them.  Our  duty  was  to  have  treated  them  whh 
respect  as  the  representatives  of  suffering  humanity  he- 
yond  what  they  were  likely  to  look  for  themselves,  and  as 
deserving  greatly,  in  common  with  their  Spanish  brethren, 
for  having  been  the  first  to  rise  against  the  tremendous 
oppression,  and  to  show  how,  and  how  only,  it  could  be 
put  an  end  to. 

*  Wm.  Woebswohth.* 

It  will  be  remembered  that  in  the  year  1793,  Mr. 
Wordsworth  was  much  dejected,  and  that  a  shock  was 
given  to  his  moral  being,  when  England  declared  war 
against  France.  In  the  work  on  the^  Convention  of  Cin- 
tra,  he  appears  before  the  world  as  depressed  in  mind 
and  indignant  in  spirit,  because  the  war  in  the  Peninsula 
was  not  carried  on  by  England  against  France  with  suf- 
ficient vigour,  and  because,  when  it  was,  as  he  believed, 
in  the  power  of  England  to  have  emancipated  Spain  and 
Portugal  from  French  bondage,  she  allowed  the  enemy 
to  escape  by  a  retreat  similar  to  a  triumph. 

Was  he  therefore,  inconsistent  ? 

To  this  question  let  him  reply  in  his  own  words  :  — 

*  The  justice  and  necessity  were  by  none  more  clearly 
perceived,  or  more  feelingly  bewailed,  than  by  those  who 
had  most  eagerly  opposed  the  war  in  its  commencement, 
and  who  continued  most  bitterly  to  regret  that  this  nation 
had  ever  borne  a  part  in  it.  Their  conduct  was  herein 
consistent :  they  proved  that  they  kept  their  eyes  steadily 
fixed  upon  principles ;  for,  though  there  was  a  shifting  or 
transfer  of  hostility  in  their  minds  as  far  as  regarded 

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CONVENTION   OF  CINTRA. 

persons,  they  only  combated  the  same  enemy  opposed  to 
them  under  a  dififerent  shape ;  and  that  enemy  was  the 
spirit  of  selfish  tyranny  and  lawless  ambition.'  ^ 

tie  then  proceeds  to  show  the  difference  between  moral 
and  phyTsical  force ;  and  that  an  armyy  however  well  dis- 
ciplined, is  powerless  against  a  people  contending  for  its 
independence :  — 

'  The  power  of  armies  is  a  visible  thing, 
Formal  and  circumscribed  in  time  and  space ; 
But  who  the  limits  of  that  power  shall  trace, 
Which  a  brave  people  into  light  can  bring, 
Or  hide  at  will,  for  freedom  combating  V* 

He  thus  expresses  himself  in  the  essay  :  — 
'  It  is  manifest  that,  though  a  great  army  may  easily 
defeat  or  disperse  another  army^  less  or  greater,  yet  it  is 
not  in  a  like  degree  formidable  to  a  determined  people^ 
nor  efficient  in  a  like  degree  to  subdue  them,  or  to  keep 
them  in  subjugation  —  much  less  if  this  people,  like  those 
of  Spain  in  the  present  instance,  be  numerous,  and,  like 
them,  inhabit  a  territory  extdisive  and  strong  by  nature. 
For  a  great  army,  and  even  several  great  armies,  cannot 
accomplish  this  by  marching  about  the  country,  unbroken, 
but  each  must  split  itself  into  many  portions,  and  the 
several  detachments  become  weak  accordingly,  not  merely 
as  they  are  small  in  size,  but  because  the  soldiery,  acting 
thus,  necessarily  relinquish  much  of  that  part  of  their 
superiority  which  lies  in  what  may  be  called  the  engi- 
nery of  war ;  and  far  more,  because  they  lose,  in  propor- 
tion as  they  are  broken,  the  power  of  profiting  by  the 
military  skill  of  the  commanders,  or  by  their  own  military 
habits.  The  experienced  soldier  is  thus  brought  down 
nearer  to  the  plain  ground  of  the  inexperienced,  man 

"  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  6.  «  Vol.  iii.  p.  86. 

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SM  comrBirrioN  of  ciitt&a. 

to  the  level  of  man:  and  it  is  then  that  the  truly 
hiave  roan  rises,  the  man  of  good  hopes  and  purposes : 
and  superiority  in  moral  brings  with  it  anperiority  in  phy- 
ncal  power.' 1  • 

He  proceeds  to  recapitulate  the  indignities  suffered  by 
Portugal  and  Spain  from  Freoch  tyranny  and  French  ^o* 
ttction^  and  then  to  educe  reasons  for  hope  from  the 
spirit  with  which  these  indignities  were  encountered.  ^ 
He  next  details  the  facts  of  the  case  :  that  the  ^  stru^le 
in  the  Peninsula  (in  the  language  of  the  British  generals 
themselves)  was  for  all  that  is  dear  to  man ; '  ^  ^t  yet 
the  French  general  Junot  was  recognised  by  them  under 
his  usurped  title,  Duke  d'Abrantes,^  which  was  a  badge 
of  Spanish  bondage ;  and  that,  when  circumstances  seemed 
to  be  most  favourable  to  the  cause  for  which  the  British 
army  had  been  sent  to  Spain,  a  convention  was  signed,  by 
which  all  the  advantages  of  the  crisis  were  forfeited,  and 
the  foes  of  England,  whom  she  came  to  repel,  treated 
with  more  consideration  than  her  allies,  whom  she  came  to 
defend.®  He  then  describes,  in  very  vivid  language,  the 
feelings  with  which  the  tidings  of  this  convention  were 
received  in  England  '^  —  feelings  of  sorrow,  astonishment, 
indignation,  and  shame,  which  were  greatly  aggravated 
when  it  was  found  that  this  convention  was  to  be  made  an 
occasion  of  national  rejoicing ;  ®  and  the  City  of  London 
had  been  rebuked  for  styling  the  convention  ^  an  afflicting 
event,  humiliating  and  degrading  to  the  country,  and 
injurious  to  His  Majesty^s  allies ; '  ^  and  that  France  w^ 
glorying  in  the  convention  as  a  treaty  dictated  by  her- 
self.io 

'  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  14.  *  Ibid.  p.  25  -  34. 

«  Ibid.  p.  34  -  43.  ♦  Ibid.  p.  45.  »  Ibid.  p.  46. 

«  Ibid.  p.  50,  75-89.       ''  Ibid.  p.  95.  »  Ibid.  p.  95-97. 
•  Ibid.  p.  100.                 »  Ibid.  p.  108. 

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COKTENTION   OF  OINTKA,  385 

He  speaks  as  the  ioterpreter  of  those  feelings  :  — 
^  In  following  the  stream  of  these  thoughts,  I  have  not 
wandered  from  my  course  :  I  have  drawn  out  to  open  day 
tha  truth  from  its  recesses  in  the  minds  of  my  countrymen. 
Something  more  perhaps  may  have  been  done :  a  shape 
hath  perhaps  been  given  to  that  which  was  before  a  stirr* 
ing  spirit.  I  have  shown  in  what  manner  it  was  their 
wish  that  the  struggle  with  the  adversary  of  all  that  is 
good  should  be  maintained  —  by  pure  passions  and  high 
actions.  They  forbid  that  their  noble  aim  should  be  frus- 
trated by  measuring  against  each  other  things  which  are 
incommensurate  —  mechanic  against  moral  power — body 
against  soul.  They  will  not  sufier,  without  expressing 
their  sorrow,  that  purblind  calculation  should  wither  the 
purest  h<^s  in  the  face  of  all-seeing  justice.  These  are 
times  of  strong  appeal  —  of  deep-searching  visitation  ; 
when  the  best  abstractions  of  the  prudential  understanding 
give  way,  and  are  included  and  absorbed  in  a  supreme 
comprehensiveness  of  intellect  and  passion  ;  which  is  the 
perfection  aad  the  very  being  of  humanity. 

*'  How  base !  how  puny  I  how  inefficient  for  all  good 
purposes  are  the  tools  and  implements  of  policy,  com- 
pared with  these  mighty  engines  of  Nature  I  —  There  is 
no  middle  course  :  two  masters  cannot  be  served  :  —  Jus- 
tice must  either  be  enthroned  above  might,  and  the  moral 
law  take  place  of  the  edicts  of  selfish  passion ;  or  the 
heart  of  the  people,  which  alone  can  sustain  the  efforts  of 
the  people,  will  languish  :  their  desires  will  not  spread 
beyond  the  plough  and  the  loom,  the  field  and  the  fireside  : 
the  sword  will  appear  to  them  an  emblem  of  no  promise  ; 
an  instrument  of  no  hope ;  an  object  of  indifference,  of 
disgust,  or  fear.  Was  there  ever  —  since  the  earliest 
actions  of  men,  which  have  been  transmitted  by  affection- 
ate tradition,  or  recorded  by  faithful  history,  or  sung  to  the 

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S96  COMVBNTION  OF  CINTSA« 

impassioned  harp  of  poetry  —  was  there  ever  a  people 
who  presented  themselves  to  the  reason  and  the  imagina- 
tion, as  under  more  holy  influences  than  the  dwellers  upon 
the  Southern  Peninsula ;  as  roused  more  instantaneously 
from  a  deadly  sleep  to  a  more  hopeful  wakefulness  ;  as  a 
mass  fluctuating  with  one  motion  under  the  breath  of  a 
mightier  wind ;  as  breaking  themselves  up,  and  settling 
into  several  bodies,  in  more  harmonious  order ;  as  reunited 
and  embattled  under  a  standard  which  was  reared  to  the 
sun  with  more  authentic  assurance  of  final  victory  ?  '  ^ 

^  Let  the  fire,  which  is  never  wholly  to  be  extinguished, 
break  out  afresh  ;  let  but  the  human  creature  be  roused ; 
whether  he  have  lain  heedless  and  torpid  in  religious  or 
civil  slavery  —  have  languished  under  a  thraldom,  domes- 
tic or  foreign,  or  under  both  these  alternately — or  have 
drifted  about  a  helpless  member  of  a  clan  of  disjointed 
and  feeble  barbarians, — let  him  rise  and  act;  —  and  his 
domineering  imagination,  by  which  from  childhood  he  has 
been  betrayed,  and  the  debasing  affections,  which  it  has 
imposed  upon  him,  will  from  that  moment  participate  the 
dignity  of  the  newly  ennobled  being  whom  they  will  now 
acknowledge  for  their  master ;  and  will  further  him  in  his 
progress,  whatever  be  the  object  at  which  he  aims.  Still 
more  inevitable  and  momentous  are  the  results,  when  the 
individual  knows  that  the  fire,  which  is  reanimated  in  him, 
is  not  less  lively  in  the  breasts  of  his  associates ;  and  sees 
the  signs  and  testimonies  of  his  own  power,  incorporated 
with  those  of  a  growing  multitude,  and  not  to  be  distin- 
guished from  them,  accompany  him  wherever  he  moves. 
Hence  those  marvellous  achievements  which  were  per- 
formed by  the  first  enthusiastic  followers  of  Mohammed ; 
and  by  other  conquerors,  who  with  their  armies   have 

'  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  112. 

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CONTENTION   OF  .CINTEA.  897 

swept  large  portions  of  the  earth  like  a  transitory  wind,  or 
have  founded  new  religions  or  empires.  But,  if  the  object 
contended  for  be  worthy  and  truly  great  (as,  in  the  in- 
stance of  the  Spaniards,  we  have  seen  that  it  is) ;  if  cruel- 
ties have  been  committed  upon  an  ancient  and  venerable 
people,  which  "  shake  the  human  frame  with  horror ; "  if 
not  alone  the  life  which  is  sustained  by  the  bread  of  the 
mouth,  but  that  —  without  which  there  is  no  life — the  life 
in  the  soul,  has  been  directly  and  mortally  warred  against ; 
if  reason  has  had  abominations  to  endure  in  her  inmost 
sanctuary  ;  —  then  does  intense  passion,  consecrated  by  a 
sudden  revelation  of  justice,  give  birth  to  those  higher  and 
better  wonders  which  I  have  described ;  and  exhibit  true 
miracles  to  the  eyes  of  men,  and  the  noblest  which  can 
be  seen.  It  may  be  added  that,  —  as  this  union  brings 
back  to  the  right  road  the  faculty  of  imagination,  where  it 
is  prone  to  err,  and  has  gone  furthest  astray  ;  as  it  corrects 
those  qualities  which  are  in  their  essence  indifferent,  and 
cleanses  those  affections  which  (not  being  inherent  in  the 
constitution  of  man,  nor  necessarily  determined  to  their 
object),  are  more  immediately  dependent  upon  tlie  imagi- 
nation, and  which  may  have  received  from  it  a  thorough 
taint  of  dishonour ;  —  so  the  domestic  loves  and  sanctities 
which  are  in  their  nature  less  liable  to  be  stained,  —  so 
these,  wherever  they  have  flowed  with  a  pure  and  placid 
stream,  do  instantly,  under  the  same  influence,  put  forth 
their  strength  as  in  a  flood  ;  and,  without  being  sullied  or 
polluted,  pursue  —  exultingly  and  with  song  —  a  course 
which  leads  the  contemplative  reason  to  the  ocean  of 
eternal  love.'  ^ 

These  passages  may  serve  as  specimens  of  the  spirit 
and  style  of  this  noble  Essay.     Whatever  difference  of 

'  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  116. 

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comrsNTioK  of  cintka. 

opinion  may  prevail  conoeraing  the  relevance  of  the 
great  principles  enunciated  in  it  to  the  question  at  issue, 
but  one  judgment  can  exist  with  respect  to  the  importance 
of  these  principles,  and  the  vigorous  and  fervid  eloquence 
with  which  they  are  enforced.  If^  Mr.  Wordsworth  had 
never  written  a  single  verse,  this  Essay  alone  would  be 
sufficient  to  place  him  in  the  highest  rank  of  English 
poets. 

A  few  more  extracts  may  be  made,  especially  as  the 
work  itself  is  now  veiy  rare. 

Speaking  of  the  condition  of  the  Peninsula  before  the 
Convention,  and  the  infatuated  policy  of  Napoleon  ^  (the 
sources  of  whose  power  are  eloquently  pointed  out  in 
another  passage),^  he  says :  — 

^Reflect  upon  what  was  the  temper  and  condition  of 
the  Southern  Peninsula  of  Europe  —  the  noble  temper  of 
the  people  of  this  mighty  island,  sovereigns  of  the  all* 
embracing  ocean ;  think  also  of  the  condition  of  so  vast 
a  region  in  the  Western  continent  and  its  islands ;  and  we 
shall  have  cause  to  fear  that  ages  may  pass  away  before 
a  conjunction  of  things,  so  marvellously  adapted  to  ensure 
prosperity  to  virtue,  shall  present  itself  again.  It  could 
scarcely  be  spoken  of  as  being  to  the  wishes  of  men,  — 

'  '  An  accursed  thing  it  is  to  gaze 

On  prosperous  tyrants  with  a  dazzled  eye  j  *  — 
and  to 

'  Forget  thy  weakness  upon  which  is  built, 
O  wretched  man,  the  throne  of  tyranny.'  * 

2  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  145.  There  is  a  remarkable  simi- 
larity between  Mr.  Wordsworth's  observations  on  this  subject,  and 
those  of  Bishop  Horsley,  at  the  close  of  his  sermon  (xxix.  on 
Dan.  iv.  17)  preached  in  St.  Asaph  Cathedral,  on  Dec.  5,  1805, 
the  day  of  public  thanksgiving  for  the  Victory  of  Trafalgar. 

♦Vol.iii.p.86. 

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CONVSNTION  OF  CINTRA. 
I 

it  was  so  far  beyond  their  hopes.  The  government  which 
had  been  exercised  under  the  name  of  the  old  Monarchy 
of  Spain  —  this  government,  imbecile  even  to  dotage, 
whose  very  selfishness  was  destitute  of  vigour,  had  been 
removed ;  tak^n  laboriously  and  foolishly  by  the  plotting 
Corsican  to  his  own  bosom  ;  in  order  that  the  world  might 
see,  more  triumphantly  set  forth  than  since  the  beginning 
of  things  had  ever  been  seen  before,  to  what  degree  a 
man  of  bad  principles  is  despicable  —  though  of  great 
power  —  working  blindly  against  his  own  purposes^  It 
was  a  high  satisfaction  to  behold  demonstrated,  in  this  man- 
ner, to  what  a  narrow  domain  of  knowledge  the  intellect 
of  a  Tyrant  must  be  confined ;  that,  if  the  gate  by  which 
wisdom  enters  has  never  been  opened,  that  of  policy  will 
surely  find  moments  when  it  will  shut  itself  against  its 
pretended  master  imperiously  and  obstinately.  To  the 
eyes  of  the  very  peasant  in  the  field,  this  sublime  truth 
was  laid  open  —  not  only  that  a  Tyrant's  domain  of 
knowledge  is  narrow,  but  melancholy  as  narrow ;  inas- 
much as  —  from  all  that  is  lovely,  dignified,  or  exhilarating 
in  the  prospect  of  human  nature  —  he  is  inexorably  cut 
off;  and  therefore  he  is  inwardly  helpless  and  forlorn.'  i 

The  following,  as  describing  his  own  position  in  regard 
to  public  measures,  will  be  read  with  interest : 

*  The  evidence  to  which  I  have  made  appeal,  in  order 
to  establish  the  truth,  is  not  locked  up  in  cabinets  ;  but  is 
accessible  to  all ;  as  it  exists  in  the  bosoms  of  men  —  in 
the  appearances  and  intercourse  of  daily  life  —  in  the 
details  of  passing  events  —  and  in  general  history.  And 
more  especially  is  its  right  import  within  the  reach  of  him 
who  —  taking  no  part  in  public  measures,  and  having  no 
concern  in  the  changes  of  things  but  as  they  afiect  what  is 

>  Conventioit  of  Cintra,  p.  121,  122. 

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400  comrBKTioic  of  cimtra. 

mo0t  precious  in  his  country  and  humanity-*  will  doubt- 
less be  more  alive  to  those  genuine  sensations  which  are 
the  materials  of  sound  judgment  Nor  is  it  to  be  over- 
looked  that  such  a  man  may  have  more  leisure  (and 
probably  will  have  a  stronger  inclination)  to  communicate 
with  the  records  of  past  ages/  ^ 

^  I  shall  at  present  content  myself  with  noting,  that  the 
basis  of  French  tyranny  is  not  laid  in  any  superiority  of 
talents  in  the  Ruler,  but  in  his  utter  rejection  of  the 
restraints  of  morality  —  in  wickedness  which  acknow- 
ledges no  limit  but  the  extent  of  its  own  power.  Let  any 
one  reflect  a  moment ;  and  he  will  feel  that  a  new  world 
of  forces  is  opened  to  a  being  who  has  made  this  despe- 
rate leap.  It  is  a  tremendous  principle  to  be  adopted, 
and  steadily  adhered  to,  by  a  man  in  the  station  which 
Buonaparte  occupies;  and  he  has  taken  the  full  benefit 
of  it.*  3 

^  No  doubt  in  the  command  of  almost  the  whole  mili- 
tary force  of  Europe  (the  subjects  which  called  upon  me 
to  make  these  distinctions),  he  has,  at  this  moment^  a  third 
source  of  power  which  may  be  added  to  these  two.*  3 

He  then  enumerates  the  circumstances  which  disqual- 
ify *  statesmen  —  as  they  have  generally  been  found  to  be 
in  modern  times  —  from  taking  large  and  elevated  views 
of  great  questions,  and  from  encountering  great  emergen- 
cies. 

The  idola  curicB  exercise  a  tyranny  over  their  under- 

>  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  131.  *  Ibid.  p.  145. 

» Ibid.  p.  146. 

«  <  O'erweening  statesmen  have  full  long  relied 

On  fleets  and  armies  and  external  wealth ; 
But  from  nithin  proceeds  a  nation's  health.'  * 

•  Vol.  iii.  p.  84. 

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COnVXIfTION   OF  CIlfTSA.  401 

standings,  and  paralyze  &eir  powers  :  petty  measures  and 
puny  men  are  the  consequence.  The  remarks  which  he 
ther^  makes  may  be  studied  with  advantage  by  all  who 
are  engaged  in  public  life. 

He  then  interposes  a  warning  against  too  much  com* 
placency  and  confidence  in  mechanical  skill  and  power, 
and  too  sanguine  expectations  of  national  progress  and 
elevation  from  material  discoveries  and  improvements. 
These,  he  observes,  may  coexist  with  national  decline, 
degradation,  and  debasement. 

*  In  many  parts  of  Europe  (and  especially  in  our  own 
country)  men  have  been  pressing  forward,  for  some  time, 
in  a  path  which  has  betrayed  by  its  fruitfulness  ;  furnish- 
ing them  constant  employment  for  picking  up  things  about 
their  feet,  when  thoughts  were  perishing  in  their  minds. 
While  Mechanic  Arts,  Manufactures,  Agriculture,  Com* 
merce,  and  all  those  products  of  knowledge  which  are 
confined  to  gross,  definite,  and  tangible  objects,  have,  with 
th^  aid  of  Experimental  Philosophy,  been  every  day 
putting  on  more  brilliant  colours ;  the  splendour  of  the 
Imagination  has  been  fading :  Sensibility,  which  was  for- 
merly a  generous  nursling  of  rude  Nature,  has  been 
chased  from  its  ancient  range  in  the  wide  domain  of 
patriotism  and  religion  with  the  weapons  of  derision  by  a 
shadow  calling  itself  Good  Sense :  calculations  of  pre* 
sumptuous  Expediency  —  groping  its  way  among  partial 
and  temporary  consequences  —  have  been  substituted  for 
thp  dictates  of  paramount  and  infallible  Conscience,  the 
supreme  embracer  of  consequences ;  lifeless  and  circum- 
spect Decencies  have  banished  the  graceful  negligence 
and  un3uspicious  dignity  of  Virtue. 

*  The  progress  of  these  arts  also,  by  furnishing  such 
attractive  stores  of  outward  accommodation,  has  misled  the 
higher  orders  of  society  in  their  mor^  disinterested  exer- 
voL.  I.  26 

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1\ 


COHVXKTION  07  CUITtA. 

tioDs  for  the  senrice  of  the  lower.  Animal  comforts  have 
been  rejoiced  over,  as  if  thej  were  the  end  of  being.  A 
neater  and  more  fertile  garden;  a  greener  field;  imple- 
ments and  utensils  more  apt ;  a  dwelling  more  (x>mmodious 
and  better  furnished ;  —  let  these  be  attained,  say  the  ac- 
tively benevolent,  and  we  are  sure  not  only  of  being  in  the 
right  road,  but  of  having  successfully  terminated  our  jour- 
ney. Now  a  country  may  advance,  for  some  time,  in  this 
eourse  with  apparent  profit ;  these  accommodations,  by 
zealous  encouragement,  may  be  attained ;  and  still  the 
Peasant  or  Artisan,  their  master,  be  a  slave  in  mind,  a 
•lave  rendered  even  more  abject  by  the  very  tenure  under 
which  these  possessions  are  held :  and,  if  they  veil  from  us 
this  fact,  or  reconcile  us  to  it,  they  are  worse  than  worthless. 
The  springs  of  emotion  may  be  relaxed  or  destroyed 
within  him  ;  he  may  have  little  thought  of  the  past,  and 
less  interest  in  the  future.  The  great  end  and  difficulty 
of  life  for  men  of  all  classes,  and  especially  difficult  for 
those  who  live  by  manual  labour,  is  a  union  of  f>eace  with 
innocent  and  laudable  animation.  Not  by  bread  alone  is 
the  life  of  Man  sustained  ;  not  by  raiment  alone  is  he 
warmed ;  —  but  by  the  genial  and  vernal  inmate  of  the 
breast,  which  at  once  pushes  forth  and  cherishes ;  by  self- 
support,  and  self-sufficing  endeavours;  by  anticipations, 
apprehensions,  and  active  remembrances ;  by  elasticity 
under  insult,  and  firm  resistance  to  injury  ;  by  joy,  and  by 
love;  by  pride  which  his  imagination  gathers  in  from 
afar ;  by  patience,  because  life  wants  not  promises  ;  by 
admiration ;  by  gratitude,  which  —  debasing  him  not  when 
his  fellow-being  is  its  object  —  habitually  expands  itself, 
for  his  elevation,  in  complacency  towards  his  Creator.'  ^  •  . 

*  Convention  of  Cintra,  p.  364,  165. 

*  [See  additional  extracts  at  the  end  of  this  Chapter.  —  h.  k.] 

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I 


CONYBNTION   OF  CIIITSA.  40t 

With  this  paragraph  we  may  pause.  Enough  has  bees 
quoted  to  show  that  the  Essay  on  the  CJonvention  of  Cintra 
was  not  an  ephemeral  production  destined  to  vanish  with 
the  occasion  which  gave  it  birth.  If  this  were  the  case, 
the  labour  bestowed  on  it  was  almost  abortive.  The 
author  composed  the  work  in  the  discharge  of  what  he 
regarded  a  sacred  duty,  and  for  the  permanent  benefit 
of  society,  rather  than  with  a  view  to  any  immediate  re** 
suits.  He  foresaw  and  predicted  that. his  words  would 
be  to  the  public  ear  what  midnight  storms  are  to  men  who 
sleep. 

'  I  dropped  my  pen,  and  listened  to  the  wind 
That  sang  of  trees  uptom  and  vessels  tost  — 
A  midnight  harmony,  and  wholly  lost 
To  the  general  sense  of  men  by  chains  confined 
Of  business,  care,  or  pleasure,  or  resigned 
To  timely  sleep.    Thought  I,  the  impassioned  strain, 
Which  without  aid  of  numbers  I  sustain, 
Like  acceptation  from  the  world  will  find.* ' 

It  is  true  that  some  few  readers  it  had  on  its  first  appear- 
ance ;  and  it  is  recorded  by  an  ear-witness  that  Mr. 
Canning  said  of  this  pamphlet  that  he  considered  it  the 
most  eloquent  production  since  the  days  of  Burke  ^ ;  but, 
by  some  untoward  delays  in  the  printing,  it  was  not  pub- 
lished till  the  interest  in  the  question  under  discussion  had 
almost  subsided.  Certain  it  is,  that  an  edition,  consisting 
only  of  500  copies,  was  not  sold  off;  that  many  copies 
were  disposed  of  by  the  publishers  as  waste  paper,  and 
went  to  the  trunkmakers ;  and  now  there  is  scarcely  any 
volume  published  in  this  century  which  is  so  difficult  to 
be  met  with  as  the  Tract  on  the  Convention  of  Cintra ; 

»  Vol.  iii.  p.  73. 

«  Southey's  Life  and  Correspondence,  vol.  iii.  p.  180  j  Gent. 
Mag.  for  June,  1850,  p.  617. 

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404  CONYBRTION   OF  CINTEA. 

and  if  it  were  now  reprinted,  it  would  come  before  the 
public  with  almost  the  unimpaired  freshness  of  a  new 
woik.* 

In  connection  with  the  Convention  of  Cintra,  I  may 
introduce  an  unpublished  Letter,^  from  Mr.  Words- 
worth,  to  Captain  Pasley,  of  Royal  Engineers,  now 
Major-General  Sir  Chas.  W.  Pasley,  K.  C.  B.,  in  acknowl- 
edgment of  his  valuable  Essay  on  the  ^  Military  Policy 
and  Institutions  oC  the  British  Empire.^ 

'  I  may  be  permitted  to  record  Sir  Charles  Fasley's  opinion  on 
this  letter,  for  which  I  am  indebted  to  him.  *  The  letter  on  my 
"Military  Policy"  is  particularly  interesting  .  .  .  Though  Mr. 
W.  agreed  that  we  ought  to  step  forward  with  all  our  military 
force  as  principals  in  the  war,  he  objected  to  any  increase  of  oar 
own  power  and  resources  by  continental  conquest,  in  which  I  now 
think  he  was  quite  right.  I  am  not,  however,  by  any  means 
shaken  in  the  opinion  then  advanced,  that  peace  with  Napoleon 
would  lead  to  the  loss  of  our  naval  superiority,  and  of  our  national 
independence,  ....  and  I  fully  believe  that  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington's campaigns  in  the  Spanish  Peuinsula  saved  the  nation, 
though  no  less  credit  is  due  to  the  ministry  of  that  day  for  not 
despairing  of  eventual  success,  but  supporting  him  under  all 
difficulties  in  spite  of  temporary  reverses,  and  in  opposition  to  a 
powerful  party  and  to  influential  writers.' 

*  [Charles  Lamb,  writing  to  Coleridge,  in  a  dated  Letter,  '  30th 
October,  1809,'  says  of  this  production  of  Wordsworth's,  — '  I 
believe  I  expressed  my  admiration  of  the  pamphlet.  Its  power 
over  me  was  like  that  which  Milton's  pamphlets  must  have  had 
on  his  contemporaries,  who  were  tuned  to  them.  What  a  piece  of 
prose !  Do  you  hear  if  it  is  read  at  all?  I  am  out  of  the  wortd 
of  readers.  I  hate  all  that  do  n'ead,  for  they  read  nothing  bat 
reviews  and  new  books.  I  gather  myself  up  into  the  old  things.' 
'  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb,'  near  the  end  of  Chap.  v.  — 
B.  &.] 


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LETTER  TO   SIR   C.  PASLET.  40Si 

To  Captain  PasUy^  Royal  Engineers, 

'Grasmere,  March  28,  1811. 
*  My  dear  Sir, 
'  I  address  this  to  the  publishers  of  your  *  Essay,*  not 
knowing  where  to  find  you.  Before  I  speak  of  the 
instruction  and  pleasure  which  I  have  derived  from  your 
work,  let  me  say  a  word  or  two  in  apology  for  my  own 
apparent  neglect  of  the  letter  with  which  you  honoured 
me  some  time  ago.  In  fact,  I  was  thoroughly  sensible  of 
the  value  of  your  correspondence,  and  of  your  kindness 
in  writing  to  me,  and  took  up  the  pen  to  tell  you  so.  I 
wrote  half  of  a  pretty  long  letter  to  you,  but  I  was  so  dis- 
gusted with  the  imperfect  and  feeble  expression  which  I 
had  given  to  some  not  uninteresting  ideas,  that  I  threw 
away  the  unfinished  sheet,  and  could  not  find  resolution  to 
resume  what  had  been  so  inauspiciously  begun.  I  am 
ashamed  to  say,  that  I  write  so  few  letters,  and  employ  my 
pen  so  little  in  any  way,  that  I  feel  both  a  lack  of  words 
(such  words  I  mean  as  I  wish  for)  and  of  mechanical  skill, 
extremely  discouraging  to  me.  I  do  not  plead  these  dis- 
abilities on  my  part  as  an  excuse,  but  I  wish  you  to  know 
that  they  have  been  the  sole  cause  of  my  silence,  and  not 
a  want  of  sense  of  the  honour  done  me  by  your  corres- 
pondence, or  an  ignorance  of  what  good  breeding  required 
of  me.  But  enough  of  my  trespasses !  Let  me  only  add, 
that  I  addressed  a  letter  of  some  length  to  you  when  you 
were  lying  ill  at  Middleburgh ;  this  probably  you  never 
received.  Now  for  your  book.  I  had  expected  it  with 
great  impatience,  and  desired  a  friend  to  send  it  down 
to  me  immediately  on  its  appearance,  which  he  neglected 
to  do.  On  this  account,  I  did  not  see  it  till  a  few  days 
ago.     I  have  read  it  through  twice,  with  great  care,  and 

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406  LBTTEl  TO  SIR  C.  PASLBT. 

many  parts  three  or  four  times  over.  From  this,  you  will 
conclude  that  I  must  have  been  much  interested ;  and  I 
assure  you  that  I  deem  myself  also  in  a  high  degree 
instructed.  It  would  be  a  most  pleasing  employment  to 
me  to  dwell,  in  this  letter,  upon  those  points  in  which  I 
agree  with  you,  and  to  acknowledge  my  obligations  for  the 
clearer  views  you  have  given  of  truths  which  I  before  per- 
ceived, though  not  with  that  distinctness  in  which  they  now 
stand  before  my  eyes.  But  I  could  wish  this  letter  to  be  of 
some  use  to  you ;  and  that  end  is  more  likely  to  be  attained 
if  I  advert  to  those  points  in  which  I  think  you  are  mis- 
taken. These  are  chiefly  such  as  though  very  material  in 
themselves,  are  not  at  all  so  to  the  main  object  you  have  in 
view,  viz.,  that  of  proving  that  the  military  power  of 
France  may  by  us  be  successfully  resisted,  and  even  over- 
thrown. In  the  first  place,  then,  I  think  that  there  are 
great  errors  in  the  survey  of  the  comparative  strength  of 
the  two  empires,  with  which  you  begin  your  book,  an^  on 
which  the  first  160  pages  are  chiefly  employed.  You 
seem  to  wish  to  frighten  the  people  into  exertion ;  and  in 
your  ardour  to  attain  your  object,  that  of  rousing  our 
countrymen  by  any  means,  I  think  you  have  caught  far 
too  eagerly  at  every  circumstance,  with  respect  to  reve- 
nue, navy,  &c.  that  appears  to  make  for  the  French. 
This  I  think  was  unnecessary.  The  people  are  convinced 
that  the  power  of  France  is  dangerous,  and  that  it  is  our 
duty  to  resist  it  to  the  utmost.  I  think  you  might  have 
commenced  from  this  acknowledged  fact;  and,  at  all 
events,  I  cannot  help  saying,  that  the  first  100  pages  or  so 
of  your  book,  contrasted  with  the  brilliant  prospects 
towards  the  conclusion,  have  impressed  me  with  a  notion 
that  you  have  written  too  much  under  the  influence  of  feel- 
ings similar  to  those  of  a  poet  or  novelist,  who  deepens 
the  distress  in  the  earlier  part  of  his  work,  in  order  that  the 

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LETTER  TO  SIB  C.  FASLET.  407 

happy  catastrophe  which  he  has  prepared  for  his  hero  and 
heroine  may  be  more  keenly  relished.  Your  object  is  to 
conduct  us  to  Elysium,  and,  lest  we  should  not  be  able  to 
enjoy  that  pure  air  and  purpurial  sunshine,  you  have' taken 
a  peep  at  Tartarus  on  the  road.  Now  I  am  of  your  mind« 
that  we  ought  not  to  make  peace  with  France,  on  any 
account,  till  she  is  humiliated,  and  her  power  brought  with- 
in reasonable  bounds.  It  is  our  duty  and  our  interest  to 
be  at  war  with  her;  but  I  do  not  think  with  you,  that 
a  state  of  peace  would  give  to  France  that  superiority 
which  you  seem  so  clearly  to  foresee.  In  estimating 
.  the  resources  of  the  two  empires,  as  to  revenue,  you 
appear  to  make  little  or  no  allowance  for  what  I  deem 
of  prime  and  paramount  importance,  the  characters  of 
the  two  nations,  and  of  the  two  governments.  Was  there 
ever  an  instance,  since  the  world  began,  of  the  peaceful 
arts  thriving  under  a  despotism  so  oppressive  as  that  of 
France  is  and  must  continue  to  be,  and  among  a  people 
so  unsettled,  so  depraved,  and  so  undisciplined  in  civil  arts 
and  habits  as  the  French  nation  must  now  be  ?  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  come  at  the  real  revenue  of  the  French  empire ; 
but  it  appears  to  me  certain,  absolutely  certain,  that  it 
must  diminish  rapidly  every  year.  The  armies  have 
hitherto  been  maintained  chiefly  from  the  contributions 
raised  upon  the  conquered  countries,  and  from  the  plunder 
which  the  soldiers  have  been  able  to  find.  But  that  har- 
vest is  over.  Austria,  and  particularly  Hungary,  may 
have  yet  something  to  supply  ;  but  the  French  Ruler  will 
scarcely  quarrel  with  them  for  a  few  years  at  least.  But 
from  Denmark,  and  Sweden,  and  Russia,  there  is  not 
much  to  be  gained.  In  the  mean  while,  wherever  his 
iron  yoke  is  fixed,  the  spirits  of  the  people  are  broken ; 
and  it  is  in  vain  to  attempt  to  extort  money  which  they  do 
not  possess,  and  cannot  procure.     Their  bodies  he  may 

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408  LBTTBS  TO  SIR  C.  PASLET. 

command,  but  their  bodies  he  cannot  move  without  the 
inspiration  of  wealthy  somewhere  or  other ;  by  wealth  I 
mean  superfluous  produce,  something  arising  from  the 
labour  of  the   inhabitants   of  countries  beyond  what  is 
necessary  to  their  support     What  will  avail  him  the  com- 
mand of  the  whole   population  of  the  Continent,  unless 
there  be  a  security  for  capital  somewhere  existing,  so  that 
the  mechanic  arts  and  inventions  may  thereby  be  applied 
in  such  a  manner  as  that  an  overplus  may  arise  from  the 
labour  of  the  country  which  shall  find  its  way  into  the 
pocket  of  the  state  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  its  mil- 
itary and  civil  establishments  ?     Now,  when  I  look  at  the 
condition  of  our  country,  and  compare  it  with  that  of 
France,  and  reflect  upon  the  length  of  the  time,  and  the 
infinite  combination  of  favourable  circumstances  which 
have  been  necessary  to  produce  the  laws,  the  regulations, 
the  customs,  the  moral  character,  and  the  physical  enginery 
of  all  sorts,  through  means,  and  by  aid  of  which,  labour 
is  carried  on  in  this  happy  land ;  and  when  I  think  of  the 
wealth  and   population   (concentrated  too  in  so  small  a 
space)  which  we  must  have  at  command  for  military  pur- 
poses, I  confess  I  have  not  much  dread,  looking  either  at 
war  or  peace,  of  any  power  which  France,  with  respect 
to  us,  is  likely  to  attain  for  years,  I  may  say  for  genera- 
tions.    Whatever  may  be  the  form  of  a  government,  its 
spirit,  at  least,  must  be  mild  and  free  before  agriculture, 
trade,  commerce,  and  manufactures  can  thrive  under  it ; 
and  if  these  do  not  prosper  in  a  state,  it  may  extend  its 
empire  to  right  and  to  left,  and  it  will  only  carry  poverty 
and.  desolation  along  with  it,  without  being  itself  perma- 
nently enriched.     You  seem   to  take   for  granted,   that 
because  the   French    revenue   amounts   to  so   much   at 
present  it  must  continue  to  keep  up  to  that  height.-      This 
I  conceive  impossible,  unless  the  spirit  of  the  government 

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LETTSB  TO  SIB  C.  FASLEY.  409 

alters,  which  is  not  likely  for  many  years.  How  comes 
it  that  we  are  enabled  to  keep,  by  sea  and  land,  so  many 
men  in  arms  ?  Not  by  our  foreign  commerce,  but  by 
our  domestic  ingenuity,  by  our  home  labour,  which, 
with  the  aid  of  capital  and  the  mechanic  arts  and  es- 
tablishments,  has  enabled  a  few  to  produce  so  much  as 
will  maintain  themselves,  and  the  hundreds  of  thousands 
of  their  countrymen  whom  they  support  in  arms.  If  our 
foreign  trade  were  utterly  destroyed,  I  am  told,  that  not 
more  than  one-sixth  of  our  trade  would  perish.  The 
spirit  of  Buonaparte ^s  government  is,  and  must  continue 
to  be,  like  that  of  the  first  conquerors  of  the  New  World 
who  went  raving  about  for  gold  —  gold !  and  for  whose 
rapacious  appetites  the  slow  but  mighty  and  sure  returns 
of  any  other  produce  could  have  no  charms.  I  cannot  but 
think  that  generations  must  pass  away  before  France,  or 
any  of  the  countries  under  its  thraldom,  can  attain  those 
habits,  and  that  character,  and  those  establishments  which 
must  be  attained  before  it  can  wield  its  population  in  a 
manner  that  will  ensure  our  overthrow.  This  (if  we  con- 
duct the  war  upon  principles  of  common  sense)  seems  to 
me  impossible,  while  we  continue  at  war ;  and  should  a 
peace  take  place  (which,  however,  I  passionately  depre- 
cate)', France  will  long  be  compelled  to  pay  tribute  to  us, 
on  account  of  our  being  so  far  before  her  in  the  race  of 
genuine  practical  philosophy  and  true  liberty.  I  mean 
that  the  mind  of  this  country  is  so  far  before  that  of  France, 
and  that  that  mind  has  empowered  the  hands  of  the  coun- 
try to  raise  so  much  national  wealth,  that  France  must 
condescend  to  accept  from  us  what  she  will  be  unable 
herself  to  produce.  Is  it  likely  that  any  of  our  manufac- 
turing capitalists,  in  case  of  a  peace,  would  trust  them- 
selves to  an  arbitrary  government  like  that  of  France, 
which,  without  a  moment^s  warning,   might  go   to  war 

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410  LBTTBS  TO   SIR  C.  PASLET. 

with  us  and  seize  their  persons  and  their  property; 
nay,  if  they  should  be  so  foolish  as  to  trust  themselves  to 
its  discretion,  would  be  base  enough  to  pick  a  quarrel 
with  us  for  the  very  purpose  of  a  pretext  to  strip  them  of 
all  they  possessed  ?  Or  is  it  likely,  if  the  native  French 
manufacturers  and  traders  were  capable  of  rivalling  us  in 
point  of  skill,  that  any  Frenchman  would  venture  upon 
that  ostentatious  display  of  wealth  which  a  large  cotton- 
mill,  for  instance,  requires,  when  he  knows  that  by  so 
doing  he  would  only  draw  upon  himself  a  glance  of  the 
greedy  eye  of  government,  soon  to  be  followed  by  a 
squeeze  from  its  rapacious  hand  ?  But  I  have  dwelt  too 
long  upon  this.  The  sum  of  what  I  think,  by  conversa- 
tion, I  could  convince  you  of  is,  that  your  comparative 
estimate  is  erroneous,  and  materially  so,  inasmuch  as  it 
makes  no  allowance  for  the  increasing  superiority  which 
a  State,  supposed  to  be  independent  and  equitable  in  its 
dealings  to  its  subjects,  must  have  over  an  oppressive 
government ;  and  none  for  the  time  which  is  necessary 
to  give  prosperity  to  peaceful  arts,  even  if  the  government 
should  improve.  Our  country  has  a  mighty  and  daily 
growing  forest  of  this  sort  of  wealth ;  whereas,  in  France, 
the  trees  are  not  yet  put  into  the  ground.  For  my  own 
part,  I  do  not  think  it  possible  that  France,  with  all  her 
command  of  territory  and  coast,  can  outstrip  us  in  naval 
power,  unless  she  could  previously,  by  her  land  power, 
cut  us  off  from  timber  and  naval  stores,  necessary  for  the 
building  and  equipment  of  our  fleet.  In  that  intellectual 
superiority  which,  as  I  have  mentioned,  we  possess  over 
her,  we  should  find  means  to  build  as  many  ships 
as  she  could  build,  and  also  could  procure  sailors  to 
man  them.  The  same  energy  would  furnish  means 
for  maintaining  the  men ;  and  if  they  could  be  fed 
and  maintained,  they  would  surely  be  produced.     Why 

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V 


LETTER  TO    SIE  C.   PASLET.  411 

then  am  I  for  war  with  France?  1st.  Because  I  think 
our  naval  superiority  may  he  more  cheaply  main- 
tained, and  more  easily,  by  war  than  by  peace;  and 
because  I  think,  that  if  the  war  were  conducted  upon 
those  principles  of  martial  policy  which  you  so  admirably 
and  nobly  enforce,  united  with  (or  rather  bottomed  upon) 
those  notions  of  justice  and  right,  and  that  knowledge  of 
and  reverence  for  the  moral  sentiments  of  mankind,  which, 
in  my  Tract,  I  attempted  to  portray  and  illustrate,  the  tide 
of  military  success  would  immediately  turn  in  our  favour; 
and  we  should  find  no  more  difficulty  in  reducing  the 
French  power  than  Gustavus  Adolphus  did  in  reducing  that 
of  the  German  Empire  in  his  day.  And  here  let  me 
express  my  zealous  thanks  for  the  spirit  and  beauty  with 
which  you  have  pursued,  through  all  its  details,  the  course 
of  martial  policy  which  you  recommend.  Too  much 
praise  cannot  be  given  to  this,  which  is  the  great  body  of 
your  work.  I  hope  that  it  will  not  be  lost  upon  your 
countrymen.  But  (as  I  said  before)  I  rather  wish  to  dwell 
upon  those  points  in  which  I  am  dissatisfied  with  your 
"  Essay.*'  Let  me  then  come  at  once  to  a  fundamental 
principle.  You  maintain,  that  as  the  military  power  of 
France  is  in  progress,  ours  must  be  so  also,  or  we  must 
perish.  In  this  I  agree  with  you.  Yet  you  contend  also, 
that  this  increase  or  progress  can  only  be  brought  about 
by  conquests  permanently  established  upon  the  Continent ; 
and,  calling  in  the  doctrines  of  the  writers  upon  the  law  of 
nations  to  your  aid,  you  are  for  beginning  with  the  con- 
quest of  Sicily,  and  so  pn,  through  Italy,  Switzerland,  &c., 
&c.  Now  it  does  not  appear  to  me,  though  I  should 
rejoice  heartily  to  see  a  British  army  march  from  Calabria, 
triumphantly,  to  the  heart  of  the  Alps,  and  from  Holland 
to  the  centre  of  Germany,  —  yet  it  does  not  appear  to  me 
that  the  conquest  and  permanent  possession  of  these  coun- 

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413  LETTEB  TO  SIB  C.  PASLBT. 

tries  is  neeessary  either  to  produce  those  resoarces  of  men 
or  money  which  the  security  and  prosperity  of  our  country 
requires.  All  that  is  absolutely  needful,  for  either  the  one 
or  the  other,  is  a  large,  experienced,  and  seasoned  army^ 
which  we  cannot  possess  without  a  field  to  fight  in,  and 
that  field  must  be  somewhere  upon  the  Continent  There- 
fore, as  far  as  concerns  ourselves  and  our  security,  1  do 
not  think  that  so  wide  a  space  of  conquered  country  is 
desirable ;  and,  as  a  patriot,  I  have  no  wish  for  it.  If  I 
desire  it,  it  is  not  for  our  sakes  directly,  but  for  the  benefit 
of  those  unhappy  nations  whom  we  should  rescue,  and 
whose  prosperity  would  be  reflected  back  upon  ourselves. 
Holding  these  notions,  it  is  natural,  highly  as  I  rate  the 
importance  of  military  power,  and  deeply  as  I  feel  its 
necessity  for  the  protection  of  every  excellence  and  vir- 
tue, that  I  should  rest  my  hopes  with  respect  to  the  eman- 
cipation of  Europe  more  upon  moral  influence,  and  the 
wishes  and  opinions  of  the  people  of  the  respective 
nations,  than  you  appear  to  do.  As  I  have  written  in  my 
pamphlet,  ^^  on  the  moral  qualities  of  a  people  must  its 
salvation  ultimately  depend.  Something  higher  than  mili- 
tary excellence  must  be  taught  as  higher ;  something  more 
fundamental,  as  more  fundamental."  Adopting  the  opin- 
ion of  the  writers  upon  the  laws  of  nations,  you  treat  of 
conquest  as  if  conquest  could  in  itself,  nakedly  and  abstract- 
edly considered,  confer  rights.  If  we  once  admit  this  prop- 
osition, all  morality  is  driven  out  of  the  world.  We  conquer 
Italy  —  that  is,  we  raise  the  British  standard  in  Italy, —  and, 
by  the  aid  of  the  inhabitants,  we  expel  the  French  from 
the  country,  and  have  a  right  to  keep  it  for  ourselves. 
This,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  is  not  only  implied,  but 
explicitly  maintained  in  your  book.  Undoubtedly,  if  it 
be  clear  that  the  possession  of  Italy  is  necessary  for 
our  security,  we  have  a  right  to  keep  possession  of  it. 

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LETTER  TO   SIB  C.  PASLET.  413 

if  we  should  ever  be  able  to  master  it  by  the  sword. 
But  not  because  we  have  gained  it  by  conquest,  there- 
fore may  we  keep  it ;  no ;  the  sword,  as  the  sword, 
can  give  no  rights;  but  because  a  great  and  noble 
nation,  like  ours,  cannot  prosper  or  exist  without  such 
possession.  If  the  fact  were  so,  we  should  then  have  a 
right  to  keep  possession  of  what  by  our  valour  we  had 
acquired  —  not  otherwise.  If  these  things  were  matter 
of  mere  speculation,  they  would  not  be  worth  talking 
about ;  but  they  are  not  so.  The  spirit  of  conquest,  and 
the  ambition  of  the  sword,  never  can  confer  true  glory 
and  happiness  upon  a  nation  that  has  attained  power 
sufficient  to  protect  itself.  Your  favourites,  the  Romans, 
though  no  doubt  having  the  fear  of  the  Carthaginians  before 
their  eyes,  yet  were  impelled  to  carry  their  arms  out  of 
Italy  by  ambition  far  more  than  by  a  rational  apprehen- 
sion of  the  danger  of  their  condition.  And  how  did  they 
enter  upon  their  career  ?  By  an  act  of  atrocious  injus- 
tice. You  are  too  well  read  in  history  for  me  to  remind 
you  what  that  act  was.  The  same  disregard  of  morality 
followed  too  closely  their  steps  everywhere.  Their  rul- 
ing passion,  and  sole  steady  guide,  was^  the  glory  of  the 
Roman  name,  and  the  wish  to  spread  the  Roman  power. 
No  wonder,  then,  if  their  armies  and  military  leaders,  as 
soon  as  they  had  destroyed  all  foreign  enemies  from 
whom  anything  was  to  be  dreaded,  turned  their  swords 
upon  each  other.  The  ferocious  cruelties  of  Sylla  and 
Marius,  of  Catiline,  and  of  Antony  and  Octavius,  and 
the  despotism  of  the  empire,  were  the  necessary  conse- 
quences of  a  long  course  of  action  pursued  upon  such 
blind  and  selfish  principles.  Therefore,  admiring  as  I  ^o 
your  scheme  of  martial  policy,  and  agreeing  with  you 
that  a  British  military,  power  may,  and  that  the  present 
state  of  the  world  requires  that  it  ought  to  be,  predomi- 

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414  LETTSm  TO  8im  C.  PA8LET* 

nant  in  Italy,  and  Germany,  and  Spain ;  yet  still,  I  am 
afraid  that  you  look  with  too  much  complacency  upon 
conquest  by  British  arms,  and  upon  British  military  in- 
influence  upon  the  Continent,  for  its  own  sake.  Accord- 
ingly, you  seem  to  regard  Italy  with  more  satisfaction 
than  Spain.  I  mean  you  contemplate  our  pos»ble  exer- 
tions in  Italy  with  more  pleasure,  merely  because  its 
dismembered  state  would  probably  keep  it  more  under 
our  sway  —  in  other  words,  more  at  our  mercy.  Now,  I 
think  there  is  nothing  more  unfortunate  for  Europe  than 
the  condition  of  Grermany  and  Italy  in  these  respects. 
Gould  the  barriers  be  dissolved  which  have  divided  the 
one  nation  into  Neapolitans,  Tuscans,  Venetians,  &c.,  and 
the  other  into  Prussians,  Hanoverians,  dz>c.,  cmd  could 
they  once  be  taught  to  feel  their  strength,  the  French 
would  be  driven  back  into  their  own  land  immediately. 
I  wish  to  see  Spain,  Italy,  France,  Germany,  formed  into 
independent  nations ;  nor  have  I  any  desire  to  reduce  the 
power  of  France  further  than  may  be  necessary  for  that 
end.  Woe  be  to  that  country  whose  military  power  is 
irresistible  !  I  deprecate  such  an  event  for  Great  Britain 
scarcely  less  than  for  any  other  land.  Scipio  foresaw  the 
evils  with  which  Rome  would  be  visited  when  no  Carthage 
should  be  in  existence  for  her  to  contend  with.  If  a 
nation  have  nothing  to  oppose  or  to  fear  without,  it 
cannot  escape  decay  and  concussion  within.  Universal 
triumph  and  absolute  security  soon  betray  a  state  into  aban- 
donment of  that  discipline,  civil  and  military,  by  which  its 
victories  were  secured.  If  the  time  should  ever  come 
when  this  island  shall  have  no  more  formidable  enemies 
by  land  than  it  has  at  this  moment  by  sea,  the  extinction 
of  all  that  it  previously  contained  of  good  and  great  would 
soon  follow.  Indefinite  progress,  undoubtedly,  ^ere  ought 
to  be  somewhere ;  but  let  that  be  in  knowledge,  in  science, 

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LETTER  TO  BIB   C.   PASLEY.  415 

in  civilization,  in  the  increase  of  the  numbers  of  the 
people,  and  in  the  augmentation  of  their  virtue  and  hap- 
piness. But  progress  in  conquest  cannot  be  indefinite ; 
and  for  that  very  reason,  if  for  no  other,  it  cannot  be  a  fit 
object  for  the  exertions  of  a  people,  I  mean  beyond  cer- 
tain limits,  which,  of  course,  will  vary  with  circumstances. 
My  prayer,  as  a  patriot,  is,  that  we  may  always  have, 
somewhere  or  other,  enemies  capable  of  resisting  us,  and 
keeping  us  at  arm's  length.  Do  I  then,  object  that  our 
arms  shall  be  carried  into  every  part  of  the  Continent  ? 
No  :  such  is  the  present  condition  of  Europe,  that  I  ear- 
nestly pray  for  what  I  deem  would  be  a  mighty  blessing, 
France  has  already  destroyed,  in  almost  every  part  of  the 
Continent,  the  detestable  governments  with  which  the 
nations  have  been  afflicted ;  she  has  extinguished  one  sort 
of  tyranny,  but  only  to  substitute  another.  Thus,  then,  have 
the  countries  of  Europe  been  taught,  that  domestic  oppres- 
sion, if  not  manfully  and  zealously  repelled,  must  sooner 
or  later  be  succeeded  by  subjugation  from  without ;  they 
have  tasted  the  bitterness  of  both  cups,  have  drunk  deeply 
of  both.  Their  spirits  are  prepared  for  resistance  to  the 
foreign  tyrant,  and  with  our  help  I  think  they  may  shake 
him  off,  and,  under  our  countenance,  and,  following  (as 
far  as  they  are  capable)  our  example,  they  may  fashion  to 
themselves,  making  use  of  what  is  best  in  their  own 
ancient  laws  and  institutions,  new  forms  of  government, 
which  may  secure  posterity  from  a  repetition  of  such 
calamities  as  the  present  age  has  brought  forth.  The 
materials  of  a  new  balance  of  power  exist  in  the  lan- 
guage, and  name,  and  territory  of  Spaini  in  those  of 
France,  and  those  of  Italy,  Germany,  Eussia,  and  the 
British  Isles.  The  smaller  states  must  disappear,  and 
merge  in  the  large  nations  and  wide-spread  languages. 
The  possibility  of  this  remodelling  of  Europe  I  see  clearly ; 

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416  LBTTBR   TO   SIR   C.  PASLET. 

earnestly  do  I  pray  for  it ;  and  I  have  in  my  mind  a  strong 
conviction  that  your  invaluable  work  will  be  a  powerful 
instrument  in  preparing  the  way  for  that  happy  issue. 
Yet  still,  we  must  go  deeper  than  the  nature  of  your  labour 
requires  you  to  penetrate.  Military  policy  merely  will 
not  perform  all  that  is  needful,  nor  mere  military  virtues. 
If  the  Roman  state  was  saved  from  overthrow,  by  the 
attack  of  the  slaves  and  of  the  gladiators,  through  the 
excellence  of  its  armies,  yet  this  was  not  without  great 
difficulty ;  ^  and  Rome  would  have  been  destroyed  by 
Carthage,  had  she  not  been  preserved  by  a  civic  fortitude 
in  which  she  surpassed  all  the  nations  of  the  earth.  The 
reception  which  the  senate  gave  to  Terentius  Varro,  after 
the  battle  of  Cannse,  is  the  sublimest  event  in  human  his- 
tory. What  a  contrast  to  the  wretched  conduct  of  the  Aus- 
trian government  after  the  battle  at  Wagram  !  England 
requires,  as  you  have  shown  so  eloquently  and  ably,  a  new 
system  of  martial  policy ;  but  England,  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  Europe,  requires  what  is  more  difficult  to  give  it,  —  a 
new  course  of  education,  a  higher  tone  of  moral  feeling, 
more  of  the  grandeur  of  the  imaginative  faculties,  and 
less  of  the  petty  processes  of  the  unfeeling  and  purblind 
understanding,  that  would  manage  the  concerns  of  nations 
in  the  same  calculating  spirit  with  which  it  would  set 
about  building  a  house.  Now  a  state  ought  to  be  governed 
(at  least  in  these  times),  the  labours  of  the  statesman 
ought  to  advance,  upon  calculations  and  from  impulses 
similar  to  those  which  give  motion  to  the  hand  of  a  great 
artist  when  he  is  preparing  a  picture,  or  of  a  mighty  poet 
when  he  is  determining  the  proportions  and  march  of  a 
poem ;  —  much  is  to  be  done  by  rule  ;  the  great  outline  is 

^  '  Totis  imperii  viribus  consurgitur/  says  the  historian,  speak- 
ing of  the  war  of  the  gladiators. 

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CONVENTION   OF   CINTfiA.  417 

previously  to  be  conceived  in  distinctness,  but  the  consum- 
mation of  the  work  must  be  trusted  to  resources  that  are 
not  tangible,  though  known  to  exist.  Much  as  I  admire  the 
political  sagacity  displayed  in  your  work,  I  respect  you  still 
more  for  the  lofty  spirit  that  supports  it ;  for  the  animation 
and  courage  with  which  it  is  replete  ;  for  the  contempt,  in 
a  just  cause,  of  death  and  danger  by  which  it  is  ennobled  ; 
for  its  heroic  confidence  in  the  valour  of  your  country- 
men ;  and  the  al^olute  determination  which  it  everywhere 
expresses  to  maintain  in  all  points  the  honour  of  the 
soldier's  profession,  and  that  of  the  noble  nation  of  which 
you  are  a  member  —  of  the  land  in  which  you  were  born. 
No  insults,  no  indignities,  no  vile  stooping,  will  your 
politics  admit  of ;  and  therefore,  more  than  for  any  other 
cause,  do  I  congratulate  my  country  on  the  appearance  of 
a  book,  which,  resting  in  this  point  our  national  safety 
upon  the  purity  of  our  national  character,  will,  I  trust, 
lead  naturally  to  make  us,  at  the  same  time,  a  more 
powerful  and  a  highminded  nation. 

*  Affectionately  yours, 

'  W.  Wobdsworth/ 

The  following  was  written  by  Mr.  Wordsworth,  in  the 
year  1840,  to  his  friend.  Professor  Reed,  of  Philadelphia  : 

*  I  am  much  pleased  by  what  you  say  in  your  letter  of 
the  18th  of  May  last,  upon  the  "Tract  of  the  Convention 
of  Cintra,"  and  I  think  myself  with  some  interest  upon  its 
being  reprinted  hereafter,  along  with  my  other  writings. 
But  the  respect,  which,  in  common  with  all  the  rest  of 
the  rational  part  of  the  world,  I  bear  for  the  Duke  of  Wel- 
lington, will  prevent  my  reprinting  the  pamphlet  during 
his  lifetime.  It  has  not  been  in  my  power  to  read  the 
volumes  of  his  Despatches,  which  I  hear  so  highly  spoken 
of,  but  I  am  convinced  that  nothing  they  contain  could 

VOL.  I.  27  r  I 

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418  COHVENTION  OF  OINTftA. 

alter  my  opinion  of  the  injurious  tendency  of  that,  or  any 

other  convention,  conducted  upon  such  principles.   It  was, 

I  repeat,  gratifying  to  me  that  you  should  have  spoken  of 

that  work  as  you  do,  and  particularly  that  you  should  have 

considered  it  in  relation  to  my  poems,  somewhat  in  the 

same  manner  you  had  done  in  respect  to  my  little  hook 

on  ^e  Lakes. 

*  I  send  you  a  sonnet,  composed  the  other  day,  while  I 

was  climhing  our  mountain  Helvellyn,  upon  Haydon^s 

portrait  of  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  supposed  to  he  on  the 

field  of  Waterloo,  twenty  years  after  the  battle  : 

\ 
"  By  Art*s  bold  privilege,  warrior,  and  war-horse  stand 

On  ground  yet  strewn  with  their  last  battle's  wreck ; 

Let  the  steed  glory,  while  his  master*s  hand 

Lies,  fixed  for  ages,  on  his  conscious  neck ; 

But  by  the  chieftain's  look,  though  at  his  side 

Hangs  that  day*s  treasured  sword,  how  firm  a  check 

Is  given  to  triumph  and  all  human  pride ! "  '  ^ 

»  Vol.  ii.  p.  311. 

[Additional  extracts  from  the  'Convention  of  Cintra*  —  In  addi- 
tion to  the  extracts  given  in  the  chapter,  the  following  selections 
from  this  rare  volume  are  appended  not  only  on  account  of  the 
yaluable  truths  expressed  in  them,  but  also  as  having  an  especial 
interest  for  the  American  reader. 

Treating  of  the  qualifications  needed  by  military  men,  as 
♦heads  of  an  army,*  Wordsworth  speaks  of,  — 

i  •  #  #  intdlectual  courage  *  #  #  that  higher  quality, 
wkich  is  never  found  without  one  or  other  of  the  three  acoompani- 
laents,  talents,  genius,  or  principle ;  —  talents  matured  by  expe- 
rience, without  which  it  cannot  exist  at  all ;  or  the  rapid  insight  of 
peculiar  genius,  by  which  the  fitness  of  an  act  may  be  instantly 
determined,  and  which  will  supply  higher  motives  than  mere 
talents  can  furnish  for  encountering  difficulty  and  danger,  and 
wiU  suggest  better  resources  for  diminishing  or  overcoming  them. 
Ttius,  through  the  power  of  genius,  this  quality  of  iateUectual 

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CONVENTION    OF   CINTBA.  419 

courage  may  exist  in  an  eminent  degree,  though  the  moral  dia- 
racter  be  greatly  perverted  j  as  in  those  personages  who  are  so 
conspicuous  in  history,  conquerors  and  usurpers,  the  Alexanders, 
the  Caesars  and  Cromwells;  and  in  that  other  class  still  more 
perverted,  remorseless  and  energetic  minds,  the  Catilines,  and 
Borgias,  whom  poets  have  denominated  **  bold  bad  men.*'  But 
thoDgh  a  course  of  depravity  will  neither  preclude  nor  jdestroy  this 
quality,  nay,  in  certain  circumstances  will  give  it  a  peculiar 
promptness  and  hardihood  of  decision,  it  is  not  on  this  account 
the  less  true,  that  to  consummate  this  species  of  courage,  and  to 
render  it  equal  to  all  occasions  (especially  when  a  man  is  not 
acting  for  himself,  but  has  an  additional  claim  on  hisjesolutioa 
from  the  circumstance  of  responsibility  to  a  superior),  principle  is 
indispensably  requisite.  I  mean  that  fixed  and  habitual  principle, 
whiQh  implies  the  absence  of  all  selfish  anticipations,  whether  of 
hope  or  fear,  and  the  inward  disavowal  of  any  tribunal  higher 
and  more  dreaded  than  the  mind's  own  judgment  upon  its  own 
act.  The  existence  of  such  principle  cannot  but  elevate  the  most 
commanding  genius,  add  rapidity  to  the  quickest  glance,  a  wider 
range  to  the  most  ample  comprehension ;  but  without  this  prin- 
ciple, the  man  of  ordinary  powers  must,  in  the  tr3ring  hour,  be 
found  utterly  wanting.  Neither  without  it  can  the  man  of  excelling 
powers  be  trustworthy,  or  have  at  all  times  a  calm  and  confident 
repose  in  himself.  But  he,  in  whom  talents,  genius,  and  prin- 
ciple are  united,  will  have  a  firm  mind,  in  whatever  embarrass- 
ment he  may  be  placed ;  will  look  steadily  at  the  most  undefined 
shapes  of  difficulty  and  danger,  of  possible  mistake  or  mischance ; 
nor  will  they  appear  to  him  more  formidable  than  they  really  are. 
For  his  attention  is  not  distracted  —  he  has  but  one  business,  and 
that  is  with  the  object  before  him.  Neither  in  general  conduct 
nor  in  particular  emergencies,  are  his  plans  subservient  to  con- 
siderations of  rewards,  estate  or  title  j  these  are  not  to  have  prece- 
dence in  his  thoughts,  to  govern  his  actions,  but  to  follow  in  the 
train  of  his  duty.  Such  men  in  ancient  times,  were  PhocioU) 
Epaminondas,  and  PhilopoBmen  ;  and  such  a  man  was  Sir  Philip 
Sidney,  of  whom  it  has  been  said,  that  he  first  taught  this  country 
the  majesty  of  honest  dealing.  With  these  may  be  named  the 
honour  of  our  own  age,  Washington,  the  deliverer  of  the  Ameri- 
can Continent ;  with  these,  though  in  many  things  unlike.  Lord 
Nelson,  whom  we  have  lately  lost.  Lord  Peterborough,  who 
fought  in  Spain  a  hundred  years  ago,  had  the  same  .excellence 

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420  COHVSNTION   OP   CINTRA. 

with  a  sense  of  exalted  honour,  and  a  tinge  of  romantic  entha- 
tiasm,  well  suited  to  the  country  which  was  the  scene  of  his 
exploits.*  ^  Pages  54,  55,  56. 

« •  •  •  Our  duty  is  —  our  aim  ought  to  be  —  to  employ  the 
true  means  of  liberty  and  virtue  for  the  ends  of  liberty  and  virtue. 
In  such  policy,  thoroughly  understood,  there  is  fitness  and  concord 
and  rational  subordination  ;  it  deserves  a  higher  name  —  organi- 
zation, health,  and  grandeur.  Contrast,  in  a  single  instance,  the 
two  processes;  and  the  qualifications  which  they  require.  The 
ministers  of  that  period  found  it  an  easy  task  to  hire  a  band  of 
Hessians,  and  to  send  it  across  the  Atlantic,  that  they  might  assist 
Ml  bringing  the  Americans  (according  to  the  phrase  then  prevalent) 
to  reason.  The  force  with  which  these  troops  would  attack  was  gross 
—  tangible  —  and  might  be  calculated ;  but  the  spirit  of  resistance, 
which  their  presence  would  create,  was  subtle  —  ethereal  —  migh- 
ty —  and  incalculable.  Accordingly,  from  the  moment  when  these 
foreigners  landed  —  men  who  had  no  interest,  no  business  in  the 
quarrel,  but  what  the  wages  of  their  master  bound  him  to,  and 
he  imposed  upon  his  miserable  slaves; — nay,  from  the  first 
rumour  of  their  destination,  the  success  of  the  British  was  (as  hath 
since  been  affirmed  by  judicious  Americans)  impossible.'  Pages 
139,  140.— B.B.1 


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CHAPTER   XXIX. 


ADVICE   TO   THE   YOUNG. 


In  the  17th  Number  of  *  The  Feiend,'  published  on  Dec. 
14,  1809,  is  an  interesting  Letter  to  the  Editor,  from  a 
correspondent  who  subscribes  himself  Mathetes,  and 
who  is  generally  understood  to  be  a  person  eminent  in  the 
various  departments  of  Poetry,  Philosophy,  and  GriticiBm 
—  Professor  Wilson. 

The  writer  begins  with  describing  the  danger  to  which 
a  young  man  is  exposed  on  emerging  from  a  state  of 
tutelage  into  the  world.  There  are,  he  thinks,  numerous 
causes  conspiring  to  bring  his  mind  into  bondage  to  popUf 
lar  fallacies,  which  will  impair  its  simplicity,  its  energy, 
and  its  love  of  truth.  He  is  dazzled  by  the  fame  of  those 
who  occupy  the  highest  places  in  the  world ;  his  affections 
attach  him  to  them  and  their  opinions ;  and,  in  a  degen- 
erate age,  such  as  the  writer  affirms  the  present  to  be,  the 
ardour  and  enthusiasm  of  youth  is  thus  enlisted  in  the 
cause  of  what  is  often  illusory  and  pernicious. 

This  danger,  it  is  alleged,  is  increased  by  the  common 
belief,  that  human  nature  is  gradually  advancing  by  a 
continuous  progress  towards  perfection.  The  necessary 
consequence  of  this  supposition  is,  a  confident  presump« 
tion  that  the  opinions  of  the  present  time  are  wiser  than 
those  of  the  past ;  and  an  overweening  reliance  on  con- 
temporary judgment  grows  up  with  a  contemptuous  dis- 
regard for  antiquity. 

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422  ADVICE  TO  THE  YOUNG. 

How  are  the  young  to  be  rescued  from  this  perilous  con- 
dition ?  Not,  it  is  answered,  by  the  voice  of  their  own  reason 
and  affections,  for  they  are  already  subjected  to  the  do- 
minion of  false  principles.  It  must  be,  by  the  warning  voice 
of  some  contemporary  teacher,  who  has  won  their  respect 
by  his  intellectual  powers,  and  has  gained  their  affections  by 
his  ardent  benevolence,  and  who  will  warn  them  against 
the  delusions  of  the  age,  and  instruct  them  to  suspect,  dis- 
trust, and  analyze  its  opinions. 

*If  a  Teacher,'  it  is  said,  *  should  stand  up  in  (heir 
generation  conspicuous  above  the  multitude  in  superior 
power,  and  yet  more  in  the  assertion  and  proclamation  of 
disregarded  truth,  —  to  him,  to  his  cheering  and  animating 
voice,  all  hearts  would  turn,  whose  deep  sensibility  has 
been  oppressed  by  the  indifference,  or  misled  by  the 
seduction  of  the  times.  Of  one  such  teacher  given  to  our 
own  age,  you  have  described  the  power  when  you  say, 
that  in  his  enunciation  of  truths  he  seems  to  speak  in 
thunders.^ 

'  I  believe  that  mighty  voice  has  not  been  poured  out  in 
vain ;  that  there  are  hearts  that  have  received  into  their 
inmost  depths  all  its  varying  tones ;  and  even  now  there 
are  many  to  whom  the  name  of  Wordsworth  calls  up  the 
recollection  of  their  weakness  and  the  consciousness  of 
their  strength.' 

Such  was  the  appeal  of  '  Mathetes.'     His  letter  was 

followed  2  by  some   observations  from   the   pen   of  him 

whom  he  had  invoked  as  his  teacher,  —  W.  Wordsworth. 

He  observes,  that  it  is  erroneous  to  imagine  that  there 

ever  was  an  age  in  which  objects  did  not  exist  to  which 

*  Coleridge  in  '  The  Friend/  vol.  i.  p.  317,  had  said  of  Words- 
worth, 'quern  quoties  lego,  non  verba  mihi  videor  audire,  sed 
tottitrua.* 

«  In  Nos.  17  and  20. 

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AI^VICB   TO  THB  YOITNO.  423 

even  the  wisest  attached  undue  importance,  and  in  which 
minds  were  not  idolized  that  owed  their  influence  to  the 
frailty  of  their  conteraporafies  rather  than  to  their  own 
strength.  At  all  -times  young  men  have  been  exposed  to 
injurious  influences  even  from  those  persons  whom  they 
are  bound  to  revere ;  and  at  all  times,  therefore,  they  have 
been  in  danger  of  delusion,  frequent  in  proportion  to  the 
liveliness  of  their  sensibility,  and  the  strength  of  their 
imagination. 

But  we  judge  amiss  both  of  the  past  and  the  present. 
In  looking  back  on  the  past,  we  see  certain  prominent  fea- 
tures, but  we  forget  how  much  we  do  not  see.  Next,  we 
weigh  the  whole  past  against  the  time  present  to  us. 
Hence  our  comparison  is  fallacious,  and  our  deductions 
from  it  erroneous. 

Again,  it  may  be  quite  true  that  certain  minds,  which 
have  existed  in  past  ages,  such  as  Homer,  Shakspeare, 
Bacon,  Milton,  Newton,  may  not  be  surpassed  or  equalled 
in  the  present  time,  yet  it  does  not  follow  that  the  general 
course  of  human  nature  is  not  progressive.  Nor  are  we 
to  imagine,  that,  because  we  do  not  see  progress  contin- 
uously made,  therefore  it  does  not  take  place.  There  is 
progress  in  a  winding  river ^  as  well  as  in  a  straight  road. 
So  it  may  be,  so  it  probably  is,  with  the  human  species. 

Hence  it  follows,  that  the  faith,  which  every  generous 
mind  would  wish  to  cherish,  in  the  advancement  of  society, 
ought  not  to  dispose  the  young  to  an  undue  admiration  of 
dieir  own  age,  and  so  tend  to  degrade  and  enslave  them. 

The  true  protection  against  delusion  is  to  be  found  in 
self-examination,  and  in  independent  exertion.  Here  youth 
has  great  advantages.  Health,  leisure,  elasticity  of  spirit, 
hope,  confidence,  disinterestedness,. these  are  some  of  its 
aids,  which  enable  it  to  labour  aright.  And  if  we  suppose 
youth  to  stand,  as  it  does,  in  the  Uvium  of  Prodicus,  it 

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4S4  ADYICB  TO  THB  TOVNG. 

ought  to  put  to  itself  certain  searching  questions,  Whai 
are  my  own  aims  ?  why  do  I  value  my  faculties  and  attain- 
mentB  ?  For  any  selfish  advantage  ?  or  a  nobler  cause  ? 
Am  I  prepared  to  renounce  applause,  to  forfeit  wealth,  to 
encounter  toil,  to  disregard  censure  in  the  pursuit  of  vir- 
tue? Am  I  ready  to  do  this  cheerfully  7  If  not,  then  I 
ought  not  to  complain  of  any  positive  evil  under  which  I 
labour  from  the  circumstances  of  youth ;  but  I  ought  to 
regret  that  1  am  defective  in  those  courageous  instincts 
which  are  the  appropriate  characteristics  of  that  season  of 
life. 

What,  however,  can  be  gained  by  this  admonition  ?  He 
cannot  recal  the  past ;  he  cannot  begin  his  journey  afresh ; 
he  cannot  untwist  the  chain  of  images  and  sentiments  in 
his  mind.  ^  He  may,  notwithstanding,^  says  Mr.  Words- 
worth, whose  exact  words  I  will  now  cite  ,^  ^  be  remanded 
to  nature ;  and  with  trustworthy  hopes ;  founded  less  upon 
his  sentient  than  upon  his»  intellectual  being  —  to  nature, 
not  as  leading  on  insensibly  to  the  society  of  reason ;  but 
to  reason  and  will  as  leading  back  to  the  wisdom  of  nature. 
A  reunion  in  this  order  accomplished,  will  bring  reforma- 
tion and  timely  support ;  and  the  two  powers  of  reason 
and  nature,  thus  reciprocally  teacher  and  taught,  may 
advance  together  in  a  track  to  which  there  is  no  limit. 

'  We  have  been  discoursing  (by  implication  at  least)  of 
infancy,  childhood,  boyhood,  and  yduth  —  of  pleasures 
lying  upon  the  unfolding  intellect  plenteously  as  morning 
dew-drops  —  of  knowledge  inhaled  insensibly  like  a  fra- 
grance — of  dispositions  stealing  into  the  spirit  like  music 
from  unknown  quarters  —  of  images  uncalled  for  and  ris- 
ing up  like  exhalations  —  of  hopes  plucked  like  beautiful 
wild-flowers  from  the  ruined  tombs  that  border  the  high- 

>  Friend,  p.  310. 

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ABVICB  TO  THE  TOUIfG.  ^  4*25 

ways  of  antiquity  to  make  a  garland  for  a  living  forehead ; 
in  a  word,  we  have  been  treating  of  nature  as  a  teacher  of 
truth  through  joy  and  through  gladness,  and  as  a  creatresfl 
of  the  faculties  by  a  process  of  smoothness  and  delight. 
We  have  made  no  mention  of  fear,  shame,  sorrow,  nor  of 
ungovernable  and  vexing  thoughts;  because,  although 
these  have  been  and  have  done  mighty  service,  they  are 
overlooked  in  that  stage  of  life  when  youth  is  passing  into 
manhood  —  overlooked,  or  forgotten.  We  now  apply  for 
succour  which  we  need,  to  a  faculty  that  works  after  a  dif- 
ferent course  :  that  faculty  is  reason :  she  gives  much  spon- 
taneously, but  she  seeks  for  more ;  she  works  by  thought, 
through  feeling ;  yet  in  thoughts  she  begins  and  ends.* 

He  then  proceeds  to  enlarge  on  the  necessity  of  inde- 
pendent effort,  and  of  an  abiding  sense  of  perianal 
responsibility,  as  distinguished  from  and  paramount  to 
dependence  on  any  living  teacher,  however  eminent^ 

*  Surely,  if  the  being  of  the  individual  be  under  his  own 
care ;  if  it  be  his  first  care ;  if  duty  begin  from  the  point 
of  accountableness  to  our  conscience,  and,  through  that,  to 
God  and  human  nature  ;  if  without  such  primary  sense  of 
duty,  all  secondary  care  of  teacher,  of  friend,  of  parent, 
must  be  baseless  and  fruitless ;  if,  lastly,  the  motions  of  the 
soul  transcend  in  worth  those  of  the  animal  functions,  nay, 
give  to  them  their  sole  value ;  then  truly  are  there  such 
powers :  and  the  image  of  the  dying  taper  may  be  recalled 
<«^and  contemplated,  though  with  no  sadness  in  the  nerves, 
no  disposition  to  tears,  no  unconquerable  sighs,  yet  with  a 
melancholy  in  the  soul,  a  sinking  inward  into  ourselves 
from  thought  to  thought,  a  steady  remonstrance  and  a  high 
resolve.  Let  then  the  youth  go  back,  as  occasion  will  per- 
mit, to  nature  and  solitude,  thus  admonished  by  reason,  and 

»  Friend,  No.  20,  Jan.  4,  1810,  p.  311. 

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496  ADVICS  TO  THE  TOVNG. 

Telying  upon  this  newly  acquired  support.  A  world  of 
fresh  sensations  will  gradually  open  upon  him  as  his  mind 
puts  off  its  infirmities,  and  as,  instead  of  being  propelled 
resdessly  towards  others  in  admuration,  or  too  hasty  love, 
he  makes  it  his  prime  business  to  understand  himself. 
New  sensations,  I  affirm,  will  be  opened  out,  pure,  and 
■aactioned  by  that  reason  which  is  liheir  original  author ; 
and  precious  feelings  of  disinterested,  that  is,  self-disre- 
garding, joy  and  love,  may  be  regenerated  and  restored  : 
and,  in  this  sense,  he  may  be  said  to  measure  back  the 
track  of  life  he  has  trod. 

*'  In  such  a  disposition  of  mind  let  the  youth  return  to 
the  visible  universe;  and  to  conversation  with  ancient 
books ;  and  to  those,  if  such  there  be,  which  in  the  pres- 
ent day  breathe  the  ancient  spirit:  and  let  him  feed 
upon  that  beauty  which  unfolds  itself,  not  to  his  eye  as  it 
sees  carelessly  the  things  which  cannot  possibly  go  un- 
seen, and  are  remembered  or  not  as  accident  shall  decide ; 
but  to  the  thinking  mind,  which  searches,  discovers,  and 
treasures  up,  —  infusing  by  meditation  into  the  objects 
with  which  it  converses,  an  intellectual  life,  whereby  they 
remain  planted  in  the  memory  now  and  for  ever.  Hith- 
erto the  youth,  I  suppose,  has  been  content,  for  the  most 
part,  to  look  at  his  own  mind,  after  the  manner  in  which 
he  ranges  along  the  stars  in  the  firmament  with  naked 
unaided  sight ;  let  him  now  apply  the  telescope  of  art,  to 
call  the  invisible  stars  out  of  their  hiding  places ;  and  let 
him  endeavour  to  look  through  the  system  of  his  being 
with  the  organ  of  reason ;  summoned  to  penetrate,  as  far 
as  it  has  power,  in  discovery  of  the  impelling  forces  and 
the  governing  laws. 

'  These  expectations  are  not  immoderate :  they  demand 
nothing  more  than  the  perception  of  a  few  plain  truths ; 
namely,  that  knowledge  efficacious  for  the  production  of 

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ADVICE    TO   THE   TOUWa,  427 

virtue  is  the  ultimate  end  of  all  effort,  the  sole  dispenser 
of  complacency  and  repose.  A  perception  also  is  implied 
of  the  inhei^nt  superiority  of  contemplation  to  action. 
"The  Friend"  does  not  in  this  contradict  his  own  words, 
where  he  has  said  heretofore  that  "  doubtless  it  is  nobler 
to  act  than  to  think."  In  these  words  it  was  his  purpose 
to  censure  that  barren  contemplation,  which  rests  satisfied 
with  itself  in  cases  where  the  thoughts  are  of  such  quality 
that  they  may  be,  and  ought  to  be,  embodied  in  action. 
But  he  speaks  now  of  the  general  superiority  of  thought 
to  action,  as  preceding  and  governing  all  action  that 
moves  to  salutary  purposes ;  and,  secondly,  as  leading  to 
elevation,  the  absolute  possession  of  the  individual  mind, 
and  to  a  consistency  or  hUrmony  of  the  being  within  itself, 
which  no  outward  agency  can  reach  to  disturb  or  to  im- 
pair ;  and,  lastly,  as  producing  works  of  pure  science,  or 
of  the  combined  faculties  of  imagination,  feeling,  and 
reason ;  works  which,  both  from  their  independence,  in 
their  origin,  upon  accident,  their  nature,  their  duration, 
and  the  wide  spread  of  their  influence,  are  entitled  rightly 
to  take  place  of  the  noblest  and  most  beneficent  deeds  of 
heroes,  statesmen,  legislators,  or  warriors.' 

A  brief  reference  is  then  made  to  secondary  considera- 
tions, of  a  prudential  nature,  such  as  wealth,  rank,  and 
station,  which  are  not  to  be  treated  with  indifference  and 
disdain,'  but  which  are  to  be  regarded  as  auxiliaries  and 
motives  to  exertion,  but  n^ver  as  principal  or  originating 
forces.  It  is  conceded,  also,  that  the  present  is,  notwith- 
standing its  manifold  excellencies,  *a  degenerate  age. 
Becreant  knights  are  among  us,  far  outnumbering  the 
true  ;  and  a  false  Gloriana  imposes  worthless  services, 
which  they  who  perform  them  know  not  to  be  such,  and 
which  are   recompensed  by  rewards  as  worthless,  yet 

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428  ADVICE  TO  THE  TOVNO. 

eagerly  grasped  as  if  they  were  the  iinmortal  guerdon  of 
Yirtue.' 

But  it  is  also  confidently  asked,  *  into  what  errors  could 
a  young  man  fall,  who  had  sincerely  entered  upon  the 
course  of  moral  discipline  which  has  been  now  recom- 
mended, and  to  which  the  condition  of  youth  is  favour* 
able  ?' 

The  effects  of  such  moral  discipline  in  detecting  and 
disarming  pof^ular  fallacies  are  further  dwelt  upon ;  and 
here  the  essay  would  be  concluded,  but  from  a  desire  of 
the  writer  to  give  full  consideration  to  the  advantages  as 
alleged  by  *'  Mathetes'  to  be  derived  from  a  living  in- 
structor. 

'  I  might  here  conclude,  but  my  correspondent,  towards 
the  close  of  his  letter,  has  written  so  feelingly  upon  the 
advantages  to  be  derived,  in  his  estimation,  from  a  living 
instructor,  that  I  must  not  leave  this  part  of  the  subject 
without  a  word  of  direct  notice.  "  The  Fbiend  *'  cited, 
some  time  ago,  a  passage  from  the  prose  works  of  Milton, 
eloquently  describing  the  manner  in  which  good  and  evil 
grow  up  together  in  the  field  of  the  world  almost  insepa- 
rably ;  and  insisting,  consequently,  upon  the  knowledge 
and  survey  of  vice  as  necessary  to  the  constituting  of  hu- 
man virtue,  and  the  scanning  of  error  to  the  confirmation 
of  truth.  If  this  be  so,  and  I  have  been  reasoning  to  the 
same  effect  in  the  preceding  paragraph,  the  fact,  and  the 
thoughts  which  it  may  suggest,  will,  if  rightly  applied, 
tend  to  moderate  an  anxiety  for  the  guidance  of  a  more 
experienced  or  superior  mind.  The  advantage  where  it 
is  possessed  is  far  from  being  an  absolute  good ;  nay,  such 
a  preceptor,  ever  at  hand,  might  prove  an  oppression  not 
to  be  thrown  off,  and  a  fatal  hindrance.* 

»  Friend,  No.  20,  Jan.  4,  1810,  p.  315. 

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ADVICE  TO  THE  TOUMO.  439 


'  These  results,  I  contend,  whatever  may  he  the  henefits 
derived  from  such  an  enlightened  teacher,  are  in  their 
degree  inevitable.  And  by  this  process,  humility  and 
docile  dispositions  may  exist  towards  the  master,  endued 
as  he  is  with  the  power  which  personal  presence  confers ; 
but  at  the  same  time  they  will  be  liable  to  overstep  their 
due  bounds,  and  to  degenerate  into  passiveness  and  pros- 
tration of  mind.  This,  towards  him  ;  while  with  respect 
to  other  living  men,  nay,  even  to  the  mighty  spirits  of  past 
times,  there  may  be  associated  with  such  weakness  a  want 
of  modesty  and  humility.  Insensibly  may  steal  in  presump- 
tion, and  a  habit  of  sitting  in  judgment  in  cases  where  no 
sentiment  ought  to  have  existed  but  diffidence  or  veneration. 
Such  virtues  are  the  sacred  attributes  of  youth  ;  its  appro* 
priate  calling  is  not  to  distinguish  in  the  fear  of  being 
deceived  or  degraded,  not  to  analyze  with  scrupulous 
minuteness,  but  to  accumulate  in  genial  confidence ;  its 
instinct,  its  safety,  its  benefit,  its  glory,  is  to  love,  to 
admire,  to  feel,  and  to  labour.  Nature  has  irrevocably  de« 
creed,  that  our  prime  dependence  in  all  stages  of  life  after 
infancy  and  childhood  have  been  passed  through  (nor  do  I 
know  that  this  latter  ought  to  be  excepted)  must  be  upon 
our  own  minds  ;  and  the  way  to  knowledge  shall  be  long, 
difficult,  winding,  and  oftentimes  returning  upon  itself. 

*  What  has  been  said  is  a  mere  sketch,  and  that  only  of 
a  part  of  this  interesting  country  into  which  we  have  been 
led  ;  but  my  correspondent  will  be  able  to  enter  the  paths 
that  have  been  pointed  out.  Should  he  do  this,  and  advance 
steadily  for  a  while,  he  needs  not  fear  any  deviations  from 
the  truth  which  will  be  finally  injurious  to  him.  He  will 
not  long  have  his  admiration  fixed  upon  unworthy  objects ; 
he  will  neither  be  clogged  nor  drawn  aside  by  the  love  of 
friends  or  kindred,  betraying  his  understanding  through 


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430  ABTICB  TO  T8B  TOUHG. 

his  affections  ;  he  will  neither  he  howed  down  hy  conven- 
tional arrangements  of  manners,  producing  too  oflen  a 
lifeless  decency ;  nor  will  the  rock  of  his  spirit  wear  away 
in  the  endless  beating  of  the  waves  of  the  world ;  neither 
will  that  portion  of  his  own  time,  which  he  must  surrender 
to  labours  by  which  his  livelihood  is  to  be  earned,  or 
his  social  duties  performed,  be  unprofitable  to  himself 
indirectly,  while  it  is  directly  useful  to  others ;  for  that 
time  has  been  primarily  surrendered  through  an  act  of 
obedience  to  a  moral  law  established  by  himself,  and 
therefore  he  moves  then  also  along  the  orbit  of  perfect 
liberty. 

^  Let  it  be  remembered  that  the  advice  requested  does 
not  relate  to  the  government  of  the  more  dangerous  pas- 
sions, or  the  fundamental  principles  of  right  and  wrong 
83  acknowledged  by  the  universal  conscience  of  mankind. 
I  may,  therefore,  assure  my  youthful  correspondent,  if  he 
will  endeavour  to  look  into  himself  in  the  manner  which  I 
have  exhorted  him  to  do,  that  in  him  the  wish  will  be 
realized,  to  him  in  due  time  the  prayer  granted,  which 
was  uttered  by  that  living  teacher  of  whom  he  speaks 
with  gratitude  as  of  a  benefactor,  when,  in  his  character 
of  philosophical  Poet,  having  thought  of  morality  as  im- 
plying in  its  essence  voluntary  obedience,  and  produ- 
'  cing  the  effect  of  order,  he  transfers  in  the  transport  of 
imagination,  the  law  of  moral  to  physical  natures,  and, 
having  contemplated,  through  the  medium  of  that  order,  all 
modes  of  existence  as  subservient  to  one  spirit,  concludes 
his  address  to  the  power  of  Duty  in  the  following  words :  ^ 

"  To  humbler  functions,  awful  Power ! 
I  call  thee  j  I  myself  commend 
Unto  thy  guidance  from  this  hour ; 

*  Ode  to  Duty,  vol.  iv.  p.  210. 

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ADVICE  TO  THE  YOUNG.  431 

Oh,  let  my  weakness  have  an  end ! 

Give  unto  me,  made  lowly  wise, 

The  spirit  of  self-sacrifice  ; 

The  confidence  of  Reason  give  ; 

And  in  the  light  of  truth  thy  bondman  let  me  live  !  " 

M.  M.' » 

Twenty  years  after  this  Essay  was  written,  Mr. 
Wordsworth  thus  briefly  adverted  to  the  subject  in  a  letter 
to  Sir  Wm.  Hamilton  of  Dublin : 

To  Professor  Hamilton^  Observatory^  Dublin. 

'  Lomther  Castle,  Sept  26,  1830. 
*  My  dear  Mr.  Hamilton, 

*  A  word  on  the  serious  part  of  your  letter.  Your 
views  of  action  and  contemplation  are,  I  think,  good.  If 
you  can  lay  your  hands  upon  Mr.  Coleridge's  "  Friend," 
you  will  find  some  remarks  of  mine  upon  a  letter  signed, 
if  I  recollect  right,  "  Mathetes,"  which  was  written  by 
Professor  Wilson,  in  which,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  senti- 
ments like  yours  are  expressed.  At  all  events,  I  am  sure 
that  I  have  long  retained  those  opinions,  and  have  fre- 
quently expressed  them  either  by  letter  or  otherwise. 
One  thing,  however,  is  not  to  be  forgotten  concerning 
active  life  —  that  a  personal  independence  ipust  be  pro- 
vided for  ;  and  in  some  cases  more  is  required  —  ability 
to  assist  our  friends,  relations,  and  natural  dependents. 
The  party  are  at  breakfast,  and  I  must  close. 

'  Ever  faithfully  yours, 

'  William  Wordsworth.' 

*  Such  was  the  signature  in  the  first  edition  of  *  The  Friend,* 
p.  317. 

% 

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CHAPTER   XXX. 

ESSAY  ON   EPITAPHS. 

In  the  twenty-fifth  number  of  '  The  Friend,'  published 
Thursday,  Feb.  22,  1810,  appear  two  Epitaphs  translated 
from  Chiabrera,  without  the  name  of  the  translator. 
These  are  followed  by  a  dissertation  on  sepulchral  inscrip- 
tions, which  was  afterwards  acknowledged  by  Mr.  Words- 
worth, as  composed  by  himself,  and  republished  by  him 
as  an  *  Essay  on  Epitaphs '  among  the  notes  to  '  The 
Excursion ; '  ^  and  the  translations  are  incorporated  in  his 
works.3 

This  Essay  appears  to  have  been  occasioned  by  a 
perusal  of  the  epitaphs  of  Chiabrera,  which  gave  so 
much  pleasure  that  it  led  him  to  examine  that  species 
of  composition  more  closely,  and  to  investigate  the  prin- 
ciples on  which  excellence  in  it  is  founded.  He  was 
further  induced  to  engage  in  this  inquiry  by  a  study  of 
Dr.  Johnson's  observations  on  the  epitaphs  '  of  Pope,  and 

*  The  Essay  has  also  been  reprinted  as  a  preface  to  an  original 
collection  of  Epitaphs  replete  with  solemn  sweetness  and  Christian 
comfort :  Lyra  Memorialis,  by  Joseph  Snow.    Lond.  1847. 

s  *  Perhaps  some  needful  service  of  the  state,'  &c.,  vol.  v. 
p.  114;  and  '0  thou  who  movest  onward  with  a  mind/  vol.  v. 
p.  115.    See  also  ibid.  p.  116  - 120. 

»  There  is  an  *  Essay  on  Epitaphs '  by  Dr.  Johnson,  in  one  of 
the  early  numbers  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  ;  Mr.  Wordsworth 
was  not  acquainted  with  this  Essay  when  he  wrote  his  own.  He 
afterwards  spoke  of  it  with  much  commendation. 

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ESSAY  ON   EPITAPHS.  433 

by  a  persuasion  that  the  practice  of  the  poet,  and  the 
teaching  of  the  critic,  had  a  tendency  to  mislead  the 
public  in  this  matter. 

The  invention  of  epitaphs  may  be  ascribed,  says  Mr. 
Wordsworth,  to  a  consciousness  of  a  principle  of  iramor* 
tality  in  the  human  soul.  This  is  anteq^dent  to  the  social 
affections,  and  gives  strength  to  them.  The  contempla- 
tive soul,  '  travelling  in  the  direction  of  man's  mortality,* 
and  contemplating  that,  ^  advances  to  the  region  of  ever- 
lasting life.*  And  the  author  of  this  species  of  compo- 
sition, epitaphs,  stands  at  a  middle  point,  between  mortality 
and  immortality.  He  looks  hack  on  the  one,  and  forward 
to  the  other.  Looking  back  with  love  on  the  mortal  hody^ 
he  guards  the  remains  of  the  deceased,  and  erects  a 
tomb ;  looking  forward  with  hope  to  his  immortal  exist- 
ence both  in  body  and  soul^  he  preserves  his  memory,  and 
Jhrites  an  epitaph.  The  author  next  adverts  to  the  situa- 
tions of  places  of  interment.  He  displays  the  advantages 
derived  from  the  association  of  burial-grounds  with  living 
objects  of  natural  beauty,  —  rivers,  trees,  flowers,  moun- 
tains, waterfalls,  and  fresh  breezes;  and  also  with  way- 
sides, as  in  ancient  times  among  the  Greeks  and  Romans. 
These  are  in  some  degree  compensated  in  large  towns  by 
the  custom  of  depositing  the  dead  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  places  of  worship,  which  suggests  many  natural  and 
solemn  admonitions ;  and  a  village  churchyard  combines 
many  of  the  best  tendencies  of  the  ancient  practice  with 
those  peculiar  to  a  place  of  Christian  worship.  ^  The  sen- 
sations of  pious  cheerfulness  which  attend  the  celebration 
of  the  sabbath-day  in  rural  places  are  profitably  chastised 
by  the  sight  of  the  graves  of  kindred  and  friends  gathered 
together  in  that  general  home,  towards  which  the  thought- 
ful but  happy  spectators  themselves  are  journeying. 
Hence,  a  parish-church,  in  the  stilhiess  of  the  country,  is 

VOL.1.  28  C^n.^nl^ 

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484  BMAT  ON  SFITJkPBS. 

a  visible  centre  of  a  community  of  the  living  and  the 
dead,  a  point  to  which  are  habitually  rderred  the  nearest 
concerns  of  both.^ 

^  Amid  the  quiet  of  a  churchyard  thus  decorated  aa  it 
aeemed  by  the  hand  of  memory,  and  sbiniag,  if  I  may  so 
say,  in  the  light  of  love,  I  have  been  affected  by  sensatifMU 
akin  to  those  which  have  arisen  in  my  mind,  while  I  have 
been  standing  by  the  side  of  a  smooth  sea  on  a  sununer^s 
day.  It  is  such  a  happiness  to  have,  in  an  unkind  world, 
one  enclosure  where  the  voice  of  detraction  is  not  heard  ; 
where  the  traces  of  evil  inclination  are  unknown  ;  where 
eontentment  prevails,  and  there  is  no  jarrring  tone  in  the 
peaceful  concert  of  amity  and  gratitude.  I  have  been 
loused  from  this  reverie  by  a  consciousness,  suddenly 
flashing  upon  me,  of  the  anxieties,  the  perturbations,  and, 
in  many  instances,  the  vices  and  rancorous  dispositions,  by 
which  the  hearts  of  those  who  lie  under  so  smooth  a  8u/> 
face  and  so  fair  an  outside  must  have  been  agitated.  The 
image  of  an  unruffled  sea  has  still  remained;  but  my 
fimcy  has  penetrated  into  the  depths  of :  that  sea,  with 
accompanying  thoughts  of  shipwreck,  of  the  destruction 
e£  the  mariner^s  hopes,  the  bones  of  drowned  men  heaped 
together,  monsters  of  the  deep,  and  all  the  hideous  and 
confused  sights  which  Clarence  saw  in  his  dream; 

^  Nevertheless,  I  have  been  able  to  return*  (%tnd  who 
may  not?)  to  a  steady  contemplation  of  the  benign  influ* 
ence  of  such  a  favourable  register  lying  open  to  the  eyes 
of  all.  Without  being  so  far  lulled  as  tO'  imagine  I  saw 
in  a  village  churchyard  the  eye,  or  central  point,  of  a  rural 
Arcadia,  I  have  felt  that  with  all  the  vague  and  general 

*  The  reader  will  here  recollect  the  picture  drawn  by  the  hand 
of  the  Poet  in  'The  Excursion,*  book  vi.,  *  The  Chaichyard 
among  the  Mountains.' 

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ESSAY   ON  SPITAFH8.  486 

expressions  of  love,  gratitude,  and  praise,  with  which  it  i« 
usually  crowded,  it  is  a  far  more  faithful  representation  of 
homely  life  as  existing  among  a  community  in  which 
circumstances  have  not  hecn  untoward,  than  any  report 
which  might  be  made  by  a  rigorous  observer  deficient  ia 
that  spirit  of  forbearance  and  those  kindly  prepossessions, 
without  which  human  life  can  in  ao  condition  be  profitably 
looked  at  or  described.  For  we  must  remember  that  it  is 
the  nature  of  vice  to  force  itself  upon  notice  both  in  the 
act  and  by  its  consequences.  Drunkenness,  cruelty,  bni* 
tal  manners,  sensuality,  and  impiety,  thoughtless  prodi- 
gality, and  idleness,  are  obstreperous  while  they  are  in  the 
height  and  hey-day  of  their  enjoyment,  and,  when  that  is 
passed  away,  long  and  obtrusive  is  the  train  of  misery 
which  they  draw  after  them.  But,  on  the  contrary,  the 
virtues^  especially  those  of  humble  life,  are  retired,  and 
n)any  of  the  highest  must  be  sought  for  or  they  will  be 
overlooked.  Industry,  economy,  temperance,  and  cleanli- 
ness, are  indeed  made  obvious  by  flourishing  fields,  rosy 
complexions,  and  smiling  countenances;  but  how  few 
know  anything  of  the  trials  to  which  men  in  a  lowly  con- 
dition are  subject,  or  of  the  steady  and  triumphant  man- 
ner in  which  those  trials  are  often  sustained,  but  they 
themselves  I  The  afflictions  which  peasants  and  rural 
artizans  have  to  struggle  with  are  for  the  most  part  secret ; 
the  tears  which  they  wipe  away,  and  the  sighs  which  they 
stifle,  this  is  all  a  labour  of  privacy.  In  fact,  their  victo- 
ries are  to  themselves  known  only  imperfectly ;  for  it  ia 
inseparable  from  virtue,  in  the  pure  sense  of  the  word,  to 
be  unconscious  of  the  might  of  her  own  prowess.' 

From  these  considerations  it  is  concluded  in  the  Essay 
that  ^  an  epitaph  ought  to  contain  some  thought  or  feeling 
belonging  to  the  mortal  or  immortal  part  of  our  nature, 
touchingly  expressed.  .  •  .  Hence,  it  will  often  happen  ia 

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436  SS8AT   ON   EPITAPHS. 

epitaphs  that  little  is  said  which  is  characterUtic  of  the 
person  to  whom  the  monument  is  erected.  And  this 
arises,  not  from  the  ahsence  of  peculiar  traits  in  the  per- 
son, but  from  the  indisposition  of  survivors  to  '^  analyze 
the  characters  of  those  whom  they  love.  The  affections 
are  their  own  justification.'* ' 

Still  an  epitaph  to  b^  good  ought  not  to  deal  only  in 
generalities.  The  reader  ought  to  know  who  the  person 
was  on  whom  he  is  called  upon  to  think  with  interest. 
But  ^  the  writer  of  an  epitaph  is  not  to  be  an  anatomist ;  ' 
he  is  not  to  describe  the  character  of  the  deceased  with 
laborious  and  antithetic  discrimination,  which  ai^ues  little 
affection  in  the  mourner,  or  little  passion-stirring  virtue  in 
the  dead.  The  character  of  a  deceased  friend  is  not  seen, 
no,  nor  ought  to  be  seen,  otherwise  than  through  a  tender 
haze  or  luminous  mist  that  spiritualizes  and  beautifies  it. 
Such  an  epitaph  is  written  by  truth  hallowed  by  love,  the 
joint  offspring  of  the  worth  of  the  dead,  and  the  affections 
of  the  living. 

An  epitaph  addresses  itself  to  all,  and  therefore  ought 
to  be  perspicuous  and  condescending,  its  story  should  be 
concise,  its  admonitions  brief.  The  thoughts  and  feelings 
expreipsed  in  it  should  partake  of  its  permanent  character ; 
they  should  be  serious,  decorous,  sedate,  solemn.  *  A 
grave  is  a  tranquillizing  object ;  a  resignation  springs  up 
from  it  as  naturally  as  the  wild  flowers  which  besprinkle 
its  turf.'  Consequently,  all  transports  of  passion  should 
be  banished  from  it. 

Hence  there  is  a  natural  truthfulness  in  these  epitaphs 
where  the  dead  speak,  and  give  admonition  to  the  living. 

These  observations  refer  specially  to  those  whose  memo- 
ries require  preservation  by  means  of  epitaphs.  The 
great  benefactors  of  mankind  do  not  need  such  memorials. 
Their  works  speak  for  them.  0^,,,^  by  Google 


ESFAT   ON   EVITAPHS.  4^17 

'  What  needs  my  Shakspeare  for  his  hononred  bones 
The  labour  of  an  age  in  piled  stones  ?  .  .  . 
Thou  in  our  wonder  and  astonishment 
Hast  bailt  thyself  a  livelong  monument.' 

Such  is  a  brief  outline  of  the  ^  Essay  on  Epitaphs.' 

The  reader  of  that  Essay  should  be  requested  to  bear 
in  mind  that  it.  is  only  one  of  a  series  of  papers  on  that 
subject.  This  Essay  was  printed  in  ^  The  Friend,'  in  the 
month  of  February;  and  in  the  March  following  *The 
Friend'  ceased  to  appear.  If  its  publication  had  been 
continued,  it  is  certain  that  the  subject  would  have  been 
resumed  and  pursued  further.  Indeed,  there  still  exist 
among  Mr.  Wordsworth's  papers  two  other  portions  of  the 
series,  fairly  transcribed  with  a  view  to  publication  in 
*  The  Friend.' 

In  this  sequel  to  the  Essay,  the  author  considers  the 
question,  whether  it  is  to  be  deplored  that  epitaphs  in 
general  are  written  in  an  eulogistic  style.  ^  Where  are 
the  bad  people  buried  ? '  is  an  inquiry  which  suggests 
itself  to  a  reader  of  the  inscription  on  the  tomb  in  the 
churchyard.* 

*  No  epitaph,'  he  thinks, '  ought  to  be  written  on  a  had 
man ;  except  for  a  warning.' 

He  then  proceeds  to  examine  how  far  what  are  called 
fantastic  expressions,  such  as  strong  metaphors,  allusions 
to  the  etymology  or  meaning  of  the  name  of  the  deceased, 
may  or  may  not  be  regarded  as  speaking  the  geniline 
language  of  an  impassioned  mind.      Next  he  turns  to 

•  [Such  was  actually  Charles  Lamb's  inquiry,  '  when  a  very 
little  boy,  walking  with  his  sister  in  a  churchyard,  he  suddenly 
asked  her,  "Mary,  where  do  the  naughty  people  lie?"'  Tal- 
fourd\s  *  Letters  of  Charles  Lamb,'  Vol.  i.  Chap.  rr.  p.  91.  See 
also,  Lamb's  '  Bosamund  Grajf,'  Chap.  xi.  —  h.  r.] 

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48S  BSSAT  ON  SnTAPHS. 

epitaphs  composed  in  the  style  of  Pope,  with  welKweighed 
phrase,  pointed  epigrams,  6cc.,  and  elaborate  antithesis, 
and  shows  how  ill  suited  they  are  to  the  purpose  they  are 
designed  to  serve.  He  examines  the  epitaph  by  Lord 
Lyttleton  on  his  wife;  by  Pope  on  Mrs.  CJorbet  (pro*> 
nounced  by  Johnson  to  be  the  best  of  that  author) ;  and 
Mason^s  epitaph  at  Bristol,  ^  Take  holy  earth ; '  and  also 
of  Miss  Drummond.  The  latter  part  of  an  epitaph  by 
Gray  is  almost  the  only  instance  which  the  author  of  the 
Essay  remembers,  among  the  metrical  epitaphs  in  our 
language  of  the  last  century,  of  affecting  thoughts  rising 
naturally,  and  keeping  themselves  pure  from  vicious 
Miction.    This  is  the  epitaph  on  Mrs.  Clark : ' 

'  Lo,  where  the  silent  marble  weeps/  &c. 

He  then  returns  to  Chiabrera.  *  *'  An  Epitaph,^'  says 
Weever,*  **  is  a  superscription  (either  in  verse  or  prose), 
or  an  astrict  pithy  diagram,  writ,  carved,  or  engraven, 
upon  the  tomb,  grave,  or  sepulchre  of  the  defunct,  briefly 
declaring  {and  that  toilh  a  kind  of  commiseration)  the 
name,  the  age,  the  deserts,  the  dignities,  the  state,  the 
praises  both  of  body  and  mind^  the  good  and  bad  fortunes 
in  the  life,  and  the  manner  and  time  of  the  death  of  the 
person  therein  interred."  This  account  of  an  epitaph, 
which  as  far  as  it  goes  is  just,  was  no  doubt  taken  by 
Weever  from  the  monuments  of  our  own  country  ;  and  it 
shows  that,  in  his  conception,  an. epitaph  was  not  to  be  an 
abstract  character  of  the  deceased,  but  an  epitomized 
biography  blended  with  description,  by  which  an  impres- 
sion of  the  character  was  to  be  conveyed.  Bring  forward 
ihe  one  incidental  expression,  "  a  kind  of  commiseration ; " 
unite  with  it  a  concern  on  the  part  of  the  dead  for  the 

^  Funeral  Monuments,  p.  ix. 

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CHIABBBEA.  489 

well-being  (^  the  living,  made  known  by  exhortation  and 
admonition ;  and  let  this  commiseration  and  concern  per« 
yade  and  brood  over  the  whole,  so  that  what  was  peculiar 
to  the  individual  shall  still  be  subordinate  to  a  sense  of 
what  he  had  in  common  with  the  species ;  and  our  notion 
of  a  perfect  epitaph  would  then  be  realized;  and  k 
pleases  me  to  say  that  this  is  the  very  model  upon  whicb 
those  of  Chiabrera  are  for  the  most  part  framed.  Observe 
kow  exquisitely  this  is  exemplified  in  the  one  beginning, 

"Pause,  courteous  stranger!  Balbi  supplicates,"  ' 

given  in  "  The  Friend  "  some  weeks  ago.  The  subject 
of  the  epitaph  is  introduced  entreating,  not  directly  in  his 
own  person,  but  through  the  mouth  of  the  author,  that, 
according  to  the  religious  belief  of  his  country,  a  prayer 
for  his  soul  might  be  preferred  to  the  Redeemer  of  the 
world.  Placed  in  counterpoise  with  this  right,  which  he 
had  in  common  with  all  the  dead,  his  individual  earthly 
aecompli&^ments  appear  light  to  his  funereal  biographeri, 
as  they  did  to  the  person  of  whom  he  speaks  when  alive ; 
nor  could  Chiabrera  have  ventured  to  touch  upon  them 
but  under  the  sanction  of  this  previous  acknowledgment 
He  then  goes  on  to  say  how  various  and  profound  was  hia 
learning,  and  how  deep  a  hold  it  took  upon  his  affections, 
but  that  he  weaned  himself  from  these  things  as  vaniti^, 
and  was  devoted  in  later  life  exclusively  to  the  divine 
truths  of  the  gospel  as  the  only  knowledge  in  which  he 
could  find  perfect  rest.  Here  we  are  thrown  back  upon 
the  introductory  supplication,  and  made  to  feel  its  especial 
propriety  in  this  case.  His  life  was  long,  and  every  part 
of  it  bore  appropriate  fruits.     Urbino,  his  birtfa-plaoe, 

>  The   translations   from   Chiabrera  will  be  found  in  vol.  v. 
p.  113-121  of  Wordsworth's  Poems. 

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440  B88AT  ON  ftPITAPHS. 

might  be  proud  of  him,  and  the  passenger  w^o  was  en- 
treated to  pray  for  his  soul  has  a  wish  breathed  for  his 
welfare.  This  compositioa  is  a  perfect  whole ;  there  is 
nothing  arbitrary  or  mechanical,  but  it  is  an  oi^^ized 
body  of  which  the  members  are  bound  together  by  a 
common  life,  and  are  'all  justly  proportioned.  If  I  had 
not  gone  so  much  into  detail  I  should  have  given  further 
instances  of  Chiabrera^s  epitaphs;  but  I  must  content 
myself  with  saying  that  if  he  had  abstained  from  the  intro- 
duction of  heathen  mythology,  of  which  he  is  lavish  — an 
inexcusable  fault  for  an  inhabitant  of  a  Christian  country, 
yet  admitting  of  some  palliation  in  an  Italian  who  treads 
classic  soil,  and  has  before  his  eyes  the  ruins  of  the 
temples  which  were  dedicated  to  those  fictitious  beings  as 
objects  of  worship  by  the  majestic  people  his  ancestors,  — - 
that  if  he  had  abstained  from  this  fault,  had  omitted  also 
some  uncharitable  particulars,  and  had  not  cm  some  occa- 
sions forgotten  that  truth  is  the  soul  of  passion,  he  would 
have  left  his  readers  little  to  regret  1  do  not  mean  to 
say  that  higher  and  nobler  thoughts  may  not  be  foimd  in 
sepulchral  inscriptions  than  his  contain  ;  but  he  under- 
stood his  work ;  the  principles  upon  which  he  composed 
are  just.  The  reader  of  "  The  Friend  "  has  had  proofs 
of  this.  One  shall  be  given  of  his  mixed  manner  of 
exeiopUfying*  some  of  the  points  in  which  he  has  erred : 

"O  Laelius,  beauteous  flower  of  gentleness/'  &c. 

This  epitaph  is  not  without  some  tender  thoughts,  but  a 
comparison  of  it  with  the  one  upon  the  youthful  Pozzo- 
bonelli  will  more  clearly  show  that  Ghiabrera  has  here 
neglected  to  ascertain  whether  the  passions  expressed 
were  in  kind  and  degree  a  dispensation  of  reason,  or 
at  least  commodities  issued  under  her  license  and  au- 
thority: 

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CHIABRSRA.  441 

*  The  epitaphs  of  Chiabrera  are  twenty-nine  in  number, 
all  of  them,  save  two,  upon  men  probably  little  known  at 
this  day  in  their  own  country,  and  scarcely  at  all  beyond 
the  limits  of  it ;  and  the  reader  is  generally  made  acquaint- 
ed  with  the  moral  and  intellectual  excellence  which  distin« 
guished  them  by  a  brief  history  of  the  course  of  their  lives, 
or  a  selection  of  events  and  circumstances,  and  thus  they 
are  individualized ;  but  in  the  two  other  instances,  namely, 
in  those  of  Tasso  and  Raphael,  he  enters  into  no  particu- 
lars, but  contents  himself  with  four  lines  expressing  one 
sentiment,  upon  the  principle  laid  down  in  the  former  part 
of  this  discourse,  where  the  subject  of  an  epitaph  is  a  man 
of  prime  note.  ^ 

'  In  an  obscure  comer  of  a  country  churchyard  I  once 
espied,  half  overgrown  with  hemlock  and  nettles,  a  very 
small  stone  laid  upon  the  ground,  and  bearing  nothing 
more  than  the  name  of  the  deceased,  with  the  date  of 
birth  and  death,  importing  that  it  was  an  infant  which  had 
been  bom'  one  day  and  died  the  following.  I  know  not 
how  far  the  reader  may  be  in  sympathy  with  me,  but  more 
awful  thoughts  of  rights  conferred,  of  hopes  awakened,  of 
remembrances  stealing  away  or  vanishing,  were  imparted 
to  my  mind  by  that  inscription  there  before  my  eyes  than 
by  any  other  that  it  has  ever  been  my  lot  to  meet  with 
upon  a  tombstone.' 

Such  is  a  concise  analysis  of  the  Dissertation  on  Epi- 
taphs, as  far  as  it  was  written :  probably  additions  would 
have  been  made  to  it  if  '  The  Friend '  had  enjoyed  a 
longer  existence. 

The  portion  which  has  been  published  received  the  fol- 
lowing commendation  from  one  of  the  best  essay-writers 
in  the  English  language.  ^  Your  Essay  on  Epitaphs,'  says 
Charles  Lamb  to  Wordsworth,  '  is  the  only  sensible  thing 

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44S  EPITAPHS  BT  WOBDSWORTH. 

which  has  been  written  on  that  subject,  and  it  goes  to  the 
bottom.*^ 

From  these  pages,  the  reader  will  turn  with  interest  to 
the  examples  presented  by  the  author  in  illustration  of  his 
own  precepts.  In  addition  to  the  epitaphs  translated  from 
Chiabrera  he  will  peruse  the  original  epitaphs  and  elegiac 
pieces  among  the  poems  of  Wordsworth.  The  inscription 
on  the  grave  of  his  own  child  in  Grasmere  churchyard,^ 
that  on  the  cenotaph  of  Mrs.  Fermor,  at  Coleorton,^  that 
on  the  tombstone  of  the  Rev.  Owen  Lloyd,  in  Langdale 
chapel-yard,^  and  of  Mr.  Southey,  in  Crosthwaite  church,* 
will  show  the  value  of  his  principles  and  how  successfully 
he  applied  them.  These  epitaphs  possess  the  happy 
faculty  of  interesting  the  reader  in  the  persons  whom  they 
commemorate,  and  of  making  him  sympathize  with  them, 
while  they  suggest  topics  of  endearing  consolation  drawn 
from  the  invisible  world,  and  thus  purify  the  affections  and 
elevate  the  thoughts.  They  show  how  instructive  a  church- 
yard may  be  ;  how  the  interests  of  this  life  may  be  inter- 
woven with  those  of  another ;  how  heavenly  affections  may 
chasten  the  joys  and  cheer  the  sorrows  of  earth  ;  and  how 

1  Talfonrd's  Final  Memorials  of  Charles  Lamb,  vol.  i.  p.  180. 
Wordsworth's  Elegy  on  Charles  Lamb,  vol.  v.  p.  141,  written  a.  d. 
1835,  was  originally  designed  as  an  epitaph,  as  the  first  lines 
show.  It  affords  an  instance  of  a  playful  allusion  to  the  name  of 
the  person  commemorated,  an  allusion  in  accordance  with  the 
principles  previously  stated  in  the  MS.  sequel  of  the  Essay. 

«  Vol.  V.  p.  121. 

»  Vol.  V.  p.  122. 

*  Vol.  V.  p.  123. 

•  Vol.  V.  p.  147.  The  first  six  lines  of  an  epitaph  in  Grasmere 
Charch  were  also  his  composition.  The  elegant  marble  tablet  on 
which  they  are  engraved  was  designed  by  Sir  Francis  Chantrey, 
and  prepared  by  Allan  Cunningham,  1822.  It  is  over  the  chancel 
door.    [See  Vol.  u.  at  the  end  of  Chap.  lvi.  —  h.  e.] 

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EPITAPHS.  448 

the  sorrows  of  earth  may  minister  occasion  for  the  exer- 
cise of  faith,  and  hope,  and  joy,  and  raise  the  soul  to 
heaven.  « 

[See  also,  as  connected  with  the  subject  of  this  chapter,  the 
sonnet  on  '  A  grave-stone  upon  the  floor  in  the  cloisters  of  Wor- 
cester Cathedral,'  beginning  —  *  "  Miserrimus ! "  and  neither  name 
nor  date,'  —  Vol.  ii.  p.  306  ;  and  the  first  lines  of  the  *  Tribute  to 
the  Memory  of  a  Favourite  Dog,^  in  which  the  feeling  is  expressed, 
which,  wisely  withholding  the  memorial  stone  from  the  mute  crea- 
tures of  the  household,  finds  another  kind  of  monument  appro- 
|>riate  to  such  use : 

'  Lie  here,  without  a  record  of  thy  worth. 
Beneath  a  covering  of  the  common  earth ! 
It  is  not  from  unwillingness  to  praise, 
Or  want  of  love,  that  here  no  Stone  we  raise ; 
More  thou  deserv'st ;  but  this  man  gives  to  man, 
Brother  to  brother,  this  is  all  we  can. 
Yet  they  to  whom  thy  virtues  made  thee  dear 
Shall  find  thee  through  all  changes  of  the  year : 
This  Oak  points  out  thy  grave ;  the  silent  tree 
Will  gladly  stand  a  monument  of  thee.' 

Vol.  IV.  p.  206.  — H.  R.J 


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CHAPTER    XXXI. 

DESCBIPTION  OF  THE   SCENBRT  OF   THE   LAKES.  —  SONNSTS 
AND  LETTERS  OK  THE  PROJECTED  WINDERBCESB  llAILWAT. 

In  the  year  1810,  appeared  a  folio  volume,  entitled 
*  Select  Views  in  Cumberland,  Westmoreland,  and  Lan- 
cashire,* by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Wilkinson,  Rector  of  East 
and  West  Wrotham,  Norfolk.  It  was  published  at  London ; 
and  contains  forty-eight  sketches  of  the  Lake  Scenery. 

Prefixed  to  these  Views  is  an  Introduction,  containing 
thirty*four  pages,  and  two  sections  of  twelve  pages,  giving 
some  practical  directions  for  visiting  the  Lakes. 

.  The  whole  of  this  letter-press  was  supplied  by  Mr. 
Wordsworth,  and  was  afterwards  printed  with  his  name, 
in  his  volume  of  Sonnets  on  the  River  Duddon,  and  sub- 
sequently as  a  separate  publication ;  the  fifUi  edition  of 
which,  with  considerable  additions,  appeared  at  Kendal  in 
1835.* 

Previously  to  the  present  century,  the  beauties  of  the 
Lake  District  had  attracted  little  public  attention.    Indeed, 

*  ['  The  Description  of  the  Scenery  etc'  has  also  been  pub- 
lished  in  '  A  Complete  Guide  to  the  Lakes/  (Kendal,  3d  edilicm, 
1846).  This  work  contains  Four  Letters  on  the  Geology  of  the 
Lake  District,  addressed  to  Mr.  Wordsworth  by  the  Rev.  Professor 
Sedgwick,  of  the  University  of  Cambridge. 

*  The  Description  of  the  Scenery  of  the  Lakes '  will  be  foaad 
in  the  Appendix  of  the  Philadelphia  edition  of  Wordsworth's 
Poetical  Works.  — h.  b.] 

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SCENEBT   OF   THE   LAKES.  445 

except  in  the  works  of  Thomson  and  Dyer,  few  traces  are 
to  be  found  of  a  just  taste  for  natural  beauty  in  the  last 
century.  Bishop  Burnet,  in  his  Tour,  speaks  only  of  the 
'  horror  of  the  Alps.^  Even  John  Evelyn  appears  to  shud- 
der at  them.  Even  Groldsmith  never  dreamed  of  any  such 
thing  as  beauty  in  them.  Dr.  Brown,  the  author  of  the 
*  Estimate  of  the  Manners  and  Principles  of  the  Times,' 
a  native  of  Cumberland,  was  one  of  the  first  who  '  led  the 
way  to  a  worthy  admiration  of  this  country,'  in  a  letter  to 
a  friend,  in  which  the  attractions  of  the  Vale  of  Keswick 
were  delineated  with  a  powerful  pencil  and  the  feelings  of 
a  genuine  enthusiast. 

The  Poet  Gray  had  traversed  it,  in  a  journey  from 
Penrith  to  Lancaster,  in  October,  1767 ;  and  his  brief 
sketch  of  what  he  then  saw  has  never  been  surpassed 
in  delicacy  of  perception  and  fidelity  of  delineation ;  ^ 
and  it  well  deserves  to  find  a  place  in  modem  Guide 
Books  to  the  Lakes.  But  he  spent  only  ten  days  in 
exploring  this  region,  and  this  at  a  time  when  roads 
were  bad,  and  at  a  season  when  days  are  short;  and 
his  description  is  necessarily  very  partial,  as  his  means 
of  observation  were  very  limited. 

A  more  elaborate  work  was  produced  by  the  Rev. 
Mr.  West,  a  Roman  Catholic  clergyman,  who  was  bom 
in  Wales  in  1717,  resided  at  Furness  and  Ulverston,  died 
in  1779,  and  was  buried  in  Kendal  Church.  His  '  Guide 
to  the  Lakes  '  takes  the  lead  of  that  class  of  publications, 
which  are  now  very  numerous.  A  considerable  portion 
of  Mr.  West's  '  Guide '  is  incorporated  in  the  two  thick 

*  See  two  letters  to  the  Morning  Post,  Dec.  1844,  by  Mr. 
Wordsworth. 

8  See  his  letter  to  Dr.  Wharton,  dated  Oct.  18,  1769,  vol.  i. 
p.  447,  edit.  4to.  Load.  1814. 

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44t  DBSCBIFTION   OF   THB 

octavo  volumes,  entitled  '  The  Tourist^s  New  Guide,  con- 
tedning  a  description  of  the  Lakes/  dee.,  by  William 
Green,  which  was  published  at  Kendal,  in  1818,  and  is 
a  very  rich  storehouse  of  minute  and  accurate  informa- 
tion concerning  this  region.^ 

But  it  was  reserved  to  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  set  the 
example  of  treating  the  Lake  Scenery  in  a  manner  not 
unworthy  of  its  beauty  and  magnificenee;  and  for  this 
be  was  well  qualified,  not  only  by  natural  endowments, 
and  by  his  poetical  functions,  but  also  by  familiarity  with 
these  scenes,  even  from  his  infancy,  and  by  a  careful 
study  of  their  changeful  forms  and  colours  in  every 
season  of  the  year.  He  commences  his  work  with  direc- 
tions to  the  tourist,  and  informs  him  how  he  may  ap- 
proach the  Lake  District  with  the  greatest  advantage. 
He  supplies  him  with  various  information  concerning 
the  routes  to  be  followed  for  visiting  the  most  interesting 
objects  in  the  most  profitable  manner.  And  having  fur- 
nished him  with  this  preliminary  knowledge,  he  advances 
a  step  further.  He  proceeds  to  present  a  panoramic  view 
of  the  Lake  District.  He  invites  the  reader  to  accom- 
pany him  to  some  central  eminence,  or,  rather,  imagines 

*  There  is  a  '  Survey  of  the  Lakes '  in  folio,  by  James  Clarkei 
Land  Purveyor,  Lond.  2d  edit.  1789,  which  cootaias  mach  that  is 
valuable  and  interesting,  with  respect  to  antiquities,  natural  pro- 
duce, family  history,  Ace,  but  has  little  reference  to  picturesque 
scenery.  ♦ 

*  [Among  these  early  works  on  the  Lake  District  there  is 
another,  well  worthy  to  be  mentioned,  on  account  of  the  tme 
feeling  it  shows  for  the  natural  beauty  of  the  region,  and  the 
careful  ezploratioii  of  its  antiquities ;  it  is  entitled  '  An  Excursion 
to  the  Lakes  in  Westmoreland  and  Cumberland ;  with  a  Tour 
through  part  of  the  Northern  Counties,  in  the  Years  1773  and 
1774.    By  W.  Hutchinson.    London,  1776.'  —  a.  ».] 

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8CEIIS9T   OF   T9S  LAKSSU  447 

him  placed  on  ^  a  eloud  hanging  midway  between  Great 
Gavel  and  Scawfell/  He  paints  out  to  him  the  valleys 
which  diverge  from  this  centre  as  spokes  from  the  nave 
of  a  wheels  and  aids  him  to  trace  in  imagination  the 
course  of  these  radiating  valleys,  and  of  the  brooks  which 
flow  along  them  to  theiv  termination;  Langdale,  to  the 
90uth*east ;  the  vale  of  Coniston,  on  the  south ;  the  vale 
of  Duddon,  with  its  copious  stream,  on  the  soijj^h-west 
Sskdale,  watered  by  the  Esk,  adorned  with  the  woody 
srteep  of  Muncaster,  the  deep  valley  of  Wastdale,  and  its 
stem  and  desolate  lake  on  the  west,  and  beyond  it  the 
Irish  sea  Ennerdale ;  with  its  wild  lake,  and  its  stream 
flowing  through  fertile  meadows  by  Egremont  Castle^ 
the  vale  and  village  of  Buttermere,  and  Crummock  Wa-> 
ter,  then  present  themselves.  Beyond,  is  the  beautiful 
vale  of  Lortott,  along  which  the  river  Cocker  flows,  till 
k  falls  into  the  Derwent,  below  the  ruins  of  the  castle 
and  the  town  of  Cockermouth,  the  author's  native  place. 
Lastly,  Borrowdale,  of  which  the  vale  of  Keswick  is  only 
a  continuation,  stretches  due  north.  Thus  half  of  the 
circle  has  been  completed.  The  rest  is  traced  in  a 
similar  manner. 

The  various  beauties  produced  by  light  and  shadow  in 
this  mountainous  region  are  briefly  indicated :  M  do  not 
know,'  says  the  writer,  '  any  tract  of  country  in  which 
within  so  narrow  a  compass  may  be  found  an  equal 
variety  in  the  influence  of  light  and  shadow  upon  the 
sublime  or  beautiful  features  of  the  landscape.' 

The  difierent  constituents  of  beauty  are  then  enume- 
rated :  first,  the  Mountains,  and  the  influence  of  various 
agencies  on  their  surface,  for  the  modification  of  their 
form,  and  diversification  of  their  colour,  according  to  the 
changes  of  season  and  atmosphere.  The  iron  with  which 
they  are  impregnated,  the  herbage,  the  mosses,  lichens, 

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448  PB8CBIPTI0N  OF  THB 

ferns,  and  woods,  all  coatribute  to  give  variety  and  bril- 
liance to  their  hues.  Winter,  in  this  region  has  its  pecu- 
liar grace  and  glory,  which  are  accurately  and  vividly 
portrayed.  A  special  characteristic  of  the  Vales  of  the 
Lake  ^District  is  then  noticed.  The  bed  of  these  Val- 
leys is  often  level,  giving  room  for  meadows  in  which 
picturesque  rocks  emerge  like  islands  from 'the  plain. 
The  form  of  a  Lake^  it  is  remarked,  is  then  most  perfect, 
when  it  least  resembles  a  river;  and  when,  consequently, 
it  inspires  that  placid  feeling  of  repose,  which  particularly 
belongs  to  a  lake  as  distinguished  from  a  flowing  stream, 
and  as  reflecting  the  clouds  and  all  the  imagery  of  the 
sky  and  of  the  surrounding  rocks  and  woods.  A  com- 
parison is  then  drawn  between  the  English  lakes  and 
the  larger  sea-like  lakes  of  Scotland,  Switzerland,  and 
America ;  and  the  peculiar  source  of  beauty  in  those  of 
England  is  very  happily  pointed  out.  The  Islands  which 
arise  from  the  surface  of  some  of  the  lakes  are  then 
noticed ;  and  the  feelings  are  described  which  are  im« 
pressed  on  the  mind  by  the  treeless  and  gloomy  Tarns  in 
the  stem  solitude  of  the  mountains,  and  often  over- 
shadowed by  steep  precipices,  and  with  huge  masses  of 
rock  scattered  around  them.  Next  the  clear  brooks,  and 
after  them  the  rich  variety  of  forest  trees  and  coppice 
woods,  contribute  a  large  share  to  the  beauty  of  the 
scenery.  This  part  of  the  volume  is  concluded  with  obser- 
vations on  the  influence  of  climate  and  of  atmospheric 
changes  on  the  natural  beauties  of  the  country.  These 
remarks  deserve  a  careful  perusal,  and  will  be  read  with 
much  gratification. 

The  next  section  is  occupied  with  an  inquiry,  how  far 
the  beauties  of  this  country  are  ascribable  to  the  hand  of 
man.  The  Lake  District  in  ancient  times  was  probably 
almost  impervious,  by  reason  of  vast  forests,  as  well  as 

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SCENBET  OF  TBE  LAKES.  449 

from  the  absence  of  avenues  of  communication  through 
the  mountain  fastnesses.  Hence  few  remains  of  ancient 
grandeur,  castles,  or  monasteries,  are  to  be  found,  except 
in  the  outskirts  of  this  region.  Chapels,  daughters  of 
some  distant  mother-church,  were  at  first  erected  in  the 
more  open  and  fertile  vales,  as  those  of  Bowness  and 
Grasmere,  dependents  of  Kendal,  which  in  their  turn 
became  roother-churches  to  smaller  chapels.  Dalesmen, 
living  here  and  there,  erect  crofVs  and  homesteads,  till  the 
valley  is  visibly  partitioned  by  walls  built  of  the  rude 
rocky  materials  which  the  soil  supplies,  and  which  readily 
harbour  mould  in  their  interstices,  and  being  continually 
refreshed  with  showers,  produce  never-fading  hanging 
gardens,  of  ferns,  mosses,  and  wild-flowers. 

When  the  Border  country  was  pacified  by  the  union  of 
the  two  crowns,  property  became  more  secure,  dwellings 
were  multiplied,  and  agriculture  improved.  A  small 
republic  of  independent  dalesmen  and  their  households, 
spinning  their  own  wool  in  their  own  houses  for  clothing, 
and  supporting  themselves  by  the  produce  of  their  lands 
and  flocks,  formed  itself  around  some  small  place  of 
worship,  adorned  at  one  end  with  a  steeple-tower  or  a 
small  belfry,  in  which  one  or  two  bells  hung  visibly,  as 
Wythebum's  '  modest  house  of  prayer,'  mentioned  in  the 
*  Waggoner.' 

The  native  forests  were  thinned  for  firewood  and  for 
the  supply  of  fuel  to  furnaces,  and  to  give  place  to  com 
and  cattle.  The  native  rock  affords  excellent  materials 
for  building  cottages,  which,  from  their  rudeness  and  sim* 
plicity,  appear  to  have  risen  by  a  spontaneous  growth  from 
the  soil.  Herein  consists  their  beauty.  Their  projecting 
masses  of  stone  produce  beautiful  effects  of  light  and 
shade.     Their  solid  porches,  built  to  weather-fend  the 

VOL.  I.  39 

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450  osacBimoM  of  tsb 

stranger,  and  to  guard  the  cottage  hall  from  wind  and 
fain,  add  much  to  their  picturesque  appearance ;  as  do  the 
chimneys,  overlaid  with  slate  on  four  small  pillars,  to  pre- 
vent the  wind  from  driving  down  the  smoke;  and  the 
thick  rough  and  jagged  grey  slates  which  form  the  roof, 
and  neurit  lichens  and  flowers  in  the  intervals  between 
them.  Hence  the  works  of  Art  are  assimilated  to  those 
of  Nature,  and  grow  gradually  into  harmonious  oneness 
with  them  and  each  other,  and  all  partake  of  a  feeling  of 
tranquil  unity,  and  appear  ^  to  be  received  into  the  bosom 
of  the  living  principle  of  things/ 

The  author  then  passes  to  a  less  agreeable,  but  w)i  less 
important  part  of  his  subject.  He  reverts  to  the  time, 
about  the  middle  of  the  last  century,  when  the  sceneiy  of 
the  lakes  was,  a^  it  were,  unveiled  from  the  retirement  in 
which  it  had  remained  concealed  till  that  time.  A  love  of 
the  picturesque  led  strangers  to  fix  their  abode  in  this 
region.  But  their  affection  was  not  always  judicious. 
They  expended  large  sums  of  money  in  banishing  Nature 
from  her  own  domain,  and  in  engrailing  grotesque  and 
fantastic  extravagances,  or  lavishing  luxurious  embellish- 
ments upon  her,  which  marred  her  beauty,  and  disturbed 
her  repose.  Some  examples  of  this  vicious  taste  and  its 
noxious  effects  are  referred  to.  A  rule  is  then  suggested 
for  future  adoption.  '  Work  where  you  can  in  the  spirit 
of  Nature,  with  an  invisible  hand  of  Art.  .  .  .  Houses  in 
a  mountainous  region  should  be  not  obvious,  or  obtrusive, 
but  retired.  The  colour  of  a  house  ought,  if  possible,  to 
have  a  cast  or  shade  of  the  colour  of  the  soil.  .  .  .  Look 
al  the  rocks,  and  they  will  fumi^  a  safe  directkSn.* 
There  are  some  exceptions  to  this  rule,  which  are  no- 
ticed. 

If  houses  are  whitej  they  ought  to  be  embowered  in 
trees.     White  houses,  scattered  over  a  valley,  divide  &e 

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SCBNBBT   OF   THE  LAKES.  45'1 

surface  into  rectilinear  figures,  haunting  die  eye,  and  dis* 
turbing  the  repose  of  the  scene.  A  cold  slaty  colour  is 
also  objectionable ;  so  is  a  flaring  yellow.  On,  the  whole, 
*'  the  safest  colour  for  general  use,^  observes  the  author, 
^  is  something  between  a  cream  and  a  dust  colour.  It  is 
best  that  the  colouring  should  be  mixed  with  the  rough* 
cast,  and  not  laid  on  as  a  wash  afterwards.'  This  is  the 
eolour  of  Rydal  Mount. 

These  observations  on  houses  are  followed  by  sugges- 
tions on  planting;  and  here  the  same  rule  is  applied, 
which  is,  to  consult  Nature,  and  follow  her  guidance,  and 
aid  and  encourage  her  operations,  with  due  subordination 
to  the  primary  principles  of  be«iuty  and  utility. 

The  author  concludes  with  the  following  appeal :  Mt  is 
probable,  that  in  a  few  years  the  country  on  the  margin 
^f  the  lakes  will  fall  almost  entirely  into  the  possession 
of  gentry,  either  strangers  or  natives.  It  is  then  much 
to  be  wished  that  a  better  taste  should  prevail  among 
these  new  proprietors ;  and,  as  they  cannot  be  expected 
to  leave/  things  to  themselves,  that  skill  and  knowledge 
should  prevent  unnecessary  deviations  from  that  path  of 
simplicity  and  beauty  along  which,  without  design  and 
unconsciously,  their  humble  predecessors  have  moved. 
In  this  wish  the  author  will  be  joined  by  persons  of  pure 
taste  throughout  the  whole  island,  who,  by  their  visits 
(often  repeated)  to  ihe  lakes  in  the  north  of  England, 
testify  that  they  deem  the  district  a  sort  of  national  pn>- 
perty,  in  which  every  man  has  a  right  and  interest,  who 
has  an  eye  to  perceive,  and  a  heart  to  enjoy.'  ^ 

These  observations  of  Mr.  Wordsworth  deserve  more 
attention  now  that  the  Lake  District  has  been  made  more 
accessible  by  the  extension  of  railway  communication, 

'  Description,  &c.,  p.  87. 

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438  SCSNBET  OF  THB  LAKES. 

almost  from  the  banks  of  the  Thames  to  the  margin  of 
Windennere.  Ambleside  is  now  within  four  hours  of 
Manchester  and  Liverpool,  and  twelve  of  Liondon.  If 
great  changes  in  the  character  and  amount  of  its  popu- 
lation took  place  in  the  last  fifty  years,  how  much  greater 
will  occur  in  the  next  half  century !  If,  then,  the  Lake 
District  is  to  preserve  its  charms,  it  can  only  be  by  the 
diffusion  of  sound  principles  of  taste.  It  must  be  treated 
with  a  modest  spirit  of  reverent  affection.  Self-forgetful- 
ness,  self-denial,  and  self-sacrifice,  are  requisite  ingre- 
dients in  a  right  appreciation  of  natural  beauty ;  and  all 
obtrusive  exhibitions  of  personal  importance  in  such  a 
region  as  this  are  evidences  of  a  barbarous  and  vicious 
taste ;  they  are  offences  against  the  dignity  of  Nature, 
and  are  outrages  against  the  rights  of  society. 

On  these  grounds  Mr.  Wordsworth's  cautions  and  sug- 
gestions impart  to  his  '  Descriptive  Manual '  a  peculiar 
value  which  does  not  belong  to  any  other  vade  mecum 
of  the  Lakes.  More  recent  itineraries  may  be  more 
serviceable  to  the  tourist  in  respect  to  local  details  of  a 
fluctuating  character ;  but  this  Manual  has  a  permanent 
worth.  Indeed,  time  will  enhance  its  value.  Doubtless, 
it  has  already  defended  this  beautiful  country  from  many 
desecrations  ;  and  in  proportion  as  it  is  more  studied,  and 
its  spirit  more  generally  embodied  in  practice,  so  will  this 
region  be  better  guarded  from  violation.  It  is  therefore 
much  to  be  desired  that  it  should  be  known  to  be  what  it 
really  is,  not  a  mere  guide-book  for  a  wayfaring  man, 
seeking  directions  on  a  road,  and  accommodations  at 
an  inn,  but  a  Manual  of  sound  philosophical  principles, 
teaching  how  Nature  is  to  be  contemplated,  and  how  her 
graces  are  to  be  preserved,  cherished,  and  improved. 

The  present  appears  to  be  a  fit  occasion  for  referring  to 

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WINDERBCSRE   RAILWAY.  458 

two  Sonnets^i  and  also  to  two  Letters,  on  the  projected 
Kendal  and  Windermere  railway :  the  latter  were  ad- 
dressed by  Mr.  Wordsworth  to  the  *  Morning  Post'  at  the 
close  of  1644. 

Two  things  must  be  borne  in  mind,  in  connection  with 
this  subject;  first,  that  Mr.  Wordsworth's  observations 
were  not  directed  'against  railways,  but  against  their 
abuses,'*  Indeed,  he  had  celebrated  the  triumph  of  steam 
applied  to  locomotion  in  a  sonnet,  published  in  1837  :  ^ 

'  Nature  dolh  embrace 
Her  lawful  offspring  in  man's  art,  and  Time, 
Pleased  with  your  triumphs  o'er  his  brother  Space, 
Accepts  from  your  bold  hands  the  proffered  crown 
or  Hope,  and  smiles  on  you  with  cheer  sublime.' 

Next,  his  remarks  concern,  in  a  great  degree,  what  was 
proposed  to  be  done  by  the  railway  projectors ;  and  what 
has  actually  been  effected  by  them  falls  far  short  of  the 
original  proposal.  The  railway  terminus  is  now  at  Birth* 
waite,  four  miles  south  of  Ambleside,  but  the  scheme  aa 
first  announced  was  to  carry  the  railway  to  Low-wood. 
It  was  anticipated  that  it  would  be  extended  to  Ambleside, 
and  along  the  fells  above  Rydal  and  Grasmere  to  Kes- 
wick, and  thence  to  Cockermquth,  and  an  act  of  parlia- 
ment was  obtained  for  that  purpose. 

Writing  to  one  of  his  nephews  in  1845,  he  thus  speaks : 
*  What  do  you  think  of  a  railway  being  driven,  as  it  now 
is,  close  to  the  magnificent  memorial  of  the  piety  of  our 
ancestors  ?  (Purness  Abbey.)    We  have  also  surveyors  at 

1  '  Is  then  no  nook  of  English  ground  secure 

From  rash  assault  ? '  * 
'  Proud  were  ye,  Mountains.'  f 
'  '  Motions.and  Means/  vol.  iv.  p.  171. 

*  Vol.  ii.  p.  319.  t  Vol.  ii.  p.  320. 

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4M  LBTTBBS  ON  THB 

work  with  our  beautifal  valley ;  the  line  meditated  is  to 
pass  ihr&ugh  Rydal  Park^  and  immediately  behind  Rydal 
Mount.'' 

Let  the  reader  of  Mr.  Wordsworth's  letters  realize  these 
circumstances;  let  him  suppose  a  Kendal  and  Keswick 
railway  actually  completed ;  let  him  picture  to  himself  the 
havoc  thus  made  among  the  native  rocks  and  vales,  scari« 
fied  and  ploughed  up  by  it ;  let  him  imagine  the  din  and 
smoke  of  engines  and  trains  rushing  to  and  fro  through 
this  quiet  and  romantic  scenery;  and  then,  but  not  till 
then,  will  he  have  a  just  notion  of  the  feelings  with  which 
Mr.  Wordsworth  wrote  his  two  sonnets  and  dictated  his 
two  letters  on  the  projected  railway. 

Speaking  of  an  intention,  announced  by  certain  pro- 
jectors, to  carry  a  railway  through  Fumess  Abbey,*  he 
adds, '  Sacred  as  that  relic  of  the  devotion  of  our  ances- 
tors deserves  to  be  kept,  there  are  temples  of  Nature, 
temples  built  by  the  Almighty,  which  have  a  still  higher 
claim  to  be  left  unviolated.'  If  I  may  be  allowed  the 
expression,  it  was  as  a  priest  of  this  natural  temple,  that  the 
Poet  came  forward,  and  stood,  as  it  were,  at  the  threshold 
and  deprecated  an  invasion  of  the  sanctuary. 

Doubtless  much  may  be  alleged  in  behalf  of  any 
designs  which  facilitate  an  approach  to  these  beautiful 
scenes.  But  an  approach  to  them  is  a  very  different  thing 
from  an  incursion  into  them.  Such  an  aggression  would 
greatly  impair  the  beauty  for  which  they  are  approached; 
and  the  proposed  undertaking,  looked  at  in  its  relation  to 
the  rational  enjoyment  and  intellectual  improvement  of 
society  by  the  education  and  refinement  of  its  tastes  and 
feelings,  would  have  almost  frustrated  its  own  purpose. 
In  this  respect,  not  in  any  other,  it  can  hardly  be  regretted 

^  The  Furness  Railway  passes  close  to  it. 

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PROJECTED  WINDERMERE   RAILWAY.  455 

by  the  lover  of  Nature  and  the  philanthropist,  that  Mr. 
Wordsworth^s  predictions  have  been  verified,  and  that  the 
Kendal  and  Windermere  railway  has  not  proved  a  lucra- 
tive speculation.  And  a  hope  may,  therefore,  be  cherished 
that  the  beautiful  scenery  of  the  Lakes  will  not  be  disfig- 
ured and  desecrated  by  those  rude  and  violent  assaults, 
against  which  the  aged  Poet  of  the  Lakes  felt  it  his  duty 
to  protest,  not  so  much  on  his  own  account  as  in  the  name 
of  Nature,  and  on  behalf  of  future  generations. 


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APPENDIX. 


(See  I^ora,  p.  ao.) 

The  following  communications,  addressed  by  a  distinguished 
antiquarian  to  Mr.  Wordsworth,  refer  to  the  early  history  of  his 
family. 

To  William  Wordsworth,  Esq, 

'Bath,  Nov.  23,  1831. 
•  Dear  Sir, 

'  It  gives  me  pleasure  to  find  that  the  notices  of  the  early  gen- 
erations of  your  family,  which  had  presented  themselves  in  the 
course  of  my  topographical  inquiries,  have  been  acceptable  to 
you ;  and  it  would  give  me  more  pleasure  to  be  the  means  of 
placing  that  curious  monument  i  of  the  taste  of  a  William 
Wordsworth  of  the  Tudor  reigns,  in  what  may  certainly  now  be 
considered  as  its  proper  deposit ;  nor  do  I  quite  despair. 

*  I  have  numerous  notices  of  six  or  eight  different  branches  of 
the  family,  who  are  found  in  the  sooth  parts  of  the  West  Riding, 
chiefly  about  the  course  of  the  Dove  and  the  Don,  any  or  all  of 
which  I  would  read  to  you  with  much  pleasure,  but  the  detail 
would  scarcely  be  interesting  to  you.  The  outline  of  the  gene- 
alogy is  this  :  We  have  first  the  line  preserved  in  so  singular  a 
manner  by  William  in  the  time  of  Queen  Mary.'  His  direct 
descendants  and  heirs,  the  Wordsworths  of  Shepherds-Castle,  in 
the  parish  of  Peniston,  from  whom  I  have  every  reason  to  think 
that  Jonathan  W.,  the  mercer,  descended,  who  died  in  1769; 

'  It  is  now  deposited  at  Rydal.    See  above,  p.  7. 
*  Henry  VIII.  a.  d.  1525.    See  below,  p.  461. 

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4S8  APPBKDIZ. 

ind  also  an  Elias  Wordswortli,  who  had  an  estate  called  Grarels, 
in  Peniaton,  which  was  sold  about  fifty  yean  ago  by  hia  grand- 
daughter, the  wife  of Reynold.    I  regard  these  as  fonning 

the  main  stock  of  the  tree,  and  that  these  were  branches :  — 

*  1 .  Wordsworth  of  Water-Hall,  in  Peniston,  the  last  of  wkom, 
Josias  Wordsworth,  of  Sevenscore,  in  Kent,  and  of  Wadworth, 
near  Boncaster,  Esq.,  died  in  1780,  leaving  the  two  daughtem 
and  heirs  named  in  my  former  letter. 

'  2.  Wordsworth  of  Falthwaite. 

*  3.  Wordsworth  of  Softley,  in  Peniston. 

M.  Wordsworth  of  Monk-Bretton,  and  New  Lathes,  both 
near  Bamsley ;  several  of  whom  were  alive  in  1807,  when  I  waa 
collecting  notices  of  the  name. 

*  5.  Wordsworth  of  Swathe-Hall,  also  near  Bamsley ;  a  brandi 
of  Wordsworth  of  Water-Hall. 

'  6.  Wordsworth  of  Brooke-House,  in  Peniston,  from  whom 
came  a  family  who  resided  about  Wakefield  and  Horbury,  now 
extinct. 

'  Besides  these,  I  haye  notices  of  a  number  of  detached  per- 
sons of  the  name,  who  were  no  doubt  of  the  family,  some  of 
whom  might  be  placed  in  their  proper  positions  in  the  pedigree 
by  a  little  inquiry ;  especially  by  the  assistance  of  the  wills 
proved  at  York,  which,  in  respect  of  a  family  who  did  not  appear 
at  the  visitations  of  the  heralds,  are  the  best  and  almost  only 
sources  of  sound  information. 

*  There  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  your  descent  from  Wordsworth 
of  Normanton  and  Falthwaite  is  as  you  suppose.  In  the  will  of 
William  of  Falthwaite,  1665,  there  is  mentioned  besides  those 
names  which  I  inserted  in  the  pedigree  of  his  grandchild,  Mary 
Corft,  his  sister,  Dorothy  Woodhead,  and  cousins  Gervas,  Anne, 
and  George  Woodhead  ;  his  cousin  Elizabeth  Faucet,  of  York ; 
cousin  Mary  Tilney;  names  which  would  assist  in  the  prose- 
cution of  the  inquiry,  if  the  attempt  were  made  to  show  the 
progenitors  of  this  William.  Of,  the  Cudworths  of  Eastfield,  a 
daughter  and  co-heir  of  whom  married  the  second  William,  I 
have  printed  some  account  in  the^  topographical  survey  of  the 
parish  of  Silkston.  There  had  been  a  marriage  between  Cud- 
worth  and  Wordsworth  before;  John  Cudworth  (the  great- 
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APPENDIX.  40i 

gfnind-father  of  Grace)  having  married  a  daughter  of  William 
Wordsworth  of  Brook-Honse,  according  to  Dodeworth,  MSS« 
Tol.  133,  f.  7.  The  mother  of  Richard  Cadworth  (father  of 
Grace)  was  Grertrnde  Cutler,  aunt  to  Sir  Gervas  Cutler  of  Stain- 
borough,  who  married  one  of  the  younger  daughters  of  the  Earl 
of  Bridgewater,  a  sister  to  the  original  actors  in  the  masque  of 
Comus.     Of  the  Cutlers  I  have  printed  a  very  full  account. 

*  The  Favels,  of  Normanton,  are  a  visitation  family ;  Christo- 
pher Favel,  who  was  brought  to  Normantoi^  by  his  marriage 
with  the  widow  of  a  Thomas  Levet  of  that  place,  having  entered 
his  pedigree  at  Sir  William  Dugdale's  visitation  in  1666,  when 
he  was  aged  twenty-five.  Brooke,  the  Somerset  Herald,  has 
continued  the  pedigree.  He  states  that  Redman  Favel,  grandson 
and  heir  of  Christopher,  married  Ann,  d.  of  Richard  Words- 
worth, of  Falthwaite ;  that  their  daughter  Elizabeth  married 
Richard  Wordsworth,  of  Falthwaite,  and  afterwards  of  White- 
haven, who  had  a  daughter,  Ann  Wordsworth,  who  married  her 
cousin,  Charles  Favel,  a  clergyman  in  Huntingdonshire.  One  of 
the  Favels,  namely,  James,  D.  B.,  a  younger  brother  of  Redman 
F.,  married  the  eldest  daughter  of  Dr.  Bentley^  a  fact  which  is, 
I  think,  not  mentioned  in  the  *'  Biographia,''  where  is  some 
account  of  Dr.  Bentley's  family ;  nor  in  Cumberland's  Memoirs 
of  himself ;  nor,  I  believe,  in  Bishop  Monk's  **  Life  of  Bentley." 

*  The  edition  which  I  have  of  the  **  Reliques"  does  not  con- 
tain the  notice  of  Worclsworth  in  the  remarks  on  the  origin  of 
the  old  ballad ;  but  I  have  seen  it  in  other  editions  of  this  favour- 
ite book.  I  am  also  well  acquainted  with  the  instrument  itself 
which  is  there  mentioned.  Ninety-four  persons  subscribed  it, 
among  whom  the  names  occur  of  William  Wordsworth,  Ralph 
Wordsworth,  Thomas  Wordsworth,  Richard  Wordsworth,  John 
Wordsworth,  a  second  Jol\n  Wordsworth,  all  of  whom  were  at 
that  time  (1603)  possessed  of  lands  in  the  parish  of  Peniston. 
Among  the  evidenee  of  Lord  Whamcli^,  I  found  certain  deposi- 
tions in  chancery,  which  appear  to  me  to  throw  a  strong  light 
ttpon  the  origin  of  that  very  singular  composition ;  the  substance 
of  which  I  have  lately  published  in  the  account  of  WharncHfle 
[Wantley],  which  makes  part  of  the  **  History  of  the  Deanery  of 
Doncaster." 

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460  APPEHDIZ. 

'  I  haTe  great  pleasure  in  adding  to  ray  accoant  of  your  branch 
of  the  family,  the  particulars  which  you  have  kindly  given  to  me. 
*  Believe  roe,  my  dear  Sir, 

♦  Yours  very  faithfully, 

*  Joseph  Huntbr. 

'  P.  S.  I  am  a  little  in  doubt  whether  you  and  I  take  precisely 
the  same  view  of  the  descent.  I  regard  your  grandfather  as  the 
son  of  the  Richard  who,  in  1693,  sold  Wraith-House.  You 
seem  to  have  an  idea  of  an  intermediate  generation.  This  could 
hardly  he,  if  your  uncle,  who  married  a  Favel,  married  his^rs^ 
Cfmsin,  since  in  that  case  she  must  have  been  daughter  of  Ann 
Wordsworth,  sister  of  your  grandfather;  and  that  lady  was  born 
too  soon  to  have  been  a  grand-daughter  of  the  Richard  who  sold 
Wraith-House.  The  wife  of  this  Richard,  and  consequently  the 
mother  (according  to  my  view)  of  your  grandfather,  is  said  by 
Brooke  to  have  been  Elizabeth  NickoUs  before  her  marriage. 
Are  there  any  means  of  knowing  in  what  year,  or  about  what 
year,  your  grandfather  was  bom  f ' 

'  Belvedere,  Bath,  Oct,  27,  1831. 
*  Dear  Sir, 

'  The  earliest  occurrence  of  the  name  of  Wordsworth  with 
which  I  am  acquainted,  is  in  a  deed  of  the  year  1392,  by  which 
Thomas  Clavell,  Lord  of  Peniston,  in  the  West  Riding  of  York- 
shire, grants  to  certain  persons  lands  in  the  Kirk  FJatt,  in  Peiir 
iston,  with  liberty  of  digging  on  the  waste,  &c.  The  deed 
was  executed  at  Peniston  ;  and  among  the  witnesses  is  Nic.  de 
Wurdesworth  de  Peniston. 

'  Wills  Wordsworth  appears  among  the  witnesses  to  a  deed  of 
John  de  I'Rodes,  Gustos  Capells  Sancti  Johannis  apud  Penyston, 
dated  at  Penistort,  20th  May,  1430. 

'  Wills  Wordsworth,  chaplain,  is  a  legatee  in  the%will  of  Robert 
Poleyn,  vicar  of  Peniston,  about  1455 ;  and  a  William  Words- 
worth, probably  the  same,  was  instituted  to  the  vicarage  of 
Peniston,  Feb.  27,  1458,  as  successor  to  Poleyn.  Wordsworth's 
successor,  Robert  Bishop,  was  instituted  in  1495.  * 

'Contemporary  with   William  Words wortl^, -the  vicar,  was 


APPENDIX.  461 

Johes  fil.  Wiin  Wordyswotth  de  Peniston,  who,  being  thas 
described,  conveys  with  other  persons  certain  lands  to  the  vicar. 

*  These  notices  are  all  from  original  evidences ;  but  the  more 
curious  of  the  early  notices  of  the  family  is  an  inscription  carved 
upon  one  of  those  large  pieces  of  furniture,  still  sometimes  to  be 
seen  in  old  houses  in  the  country,  and  formerly  known  by  the 
name  of  Almeries,  of  which  the  following  is  a  correct  copy  taken 
by  a  skilful  antiquary  many  years  ago : 

Hoc  opus  iiebat  A"  Dni  m*ccccc»  ixv°  ex  sumptu  Willmi 
Wordesworth  filii  W.  fil.  Joh.  fil.  W.  fil.  Nich.  viri  Eliza- 
beth filiae  et  heredis  W.  Proctor  de  Penyston  Quorum 
aiabus  p'picietur  Deus. 

*  The  Nicholas  who  is  mentioned  in  this  inscription  must  have 
lived  at  the  same  time  with  the  Nicholas  Wordsworth  who 
appears  in  the  deed  of  1392,  and  was  in  all  probability  the  same 
person  ;  brought  hither  by  his  marriage  with  the  heiress  of  Proc- 
tor, a  family  whose  name  appears  in  some  earlier  deeds  relating 
to  lands  in  Peniston.  Fiom  whence  he  came  I  know  not.  But 
in  the  reign  of  Richard  II.,  we  are  arrived  neai  I y  at  the  time 
when  the  great  body  of  our  personal  nomenclature  first  became 
settled.  The  name  is  evidently  local,  and  whenever  any  hamlet 
shall  be  discovered  having  the  name  of  Wordsworth,  there  w^ould 
probably  have  been  the  deposit  of  the  family  upon  the  settlement 
at  Peniston.  But  from  whatever  place  Nicholas  came,  he  seems 
to  have  been  the  common  ancestor  to  numerous  families  of  the 
name  settled  in  Peniston,  and  the  parts  adjacent,  most  of  whom 
possessed  lands,  and  some  of  whom  were  families  of  consider- 
ation. I  find  a  Ralph,  son  and  heir  of  William,  in  I  Philip  and 
Mary;  and  a  William,  son  and  heir  of  Ralph,  who  in  1542  was 
to  marry  a  daughter  of  Thomas  Beaumont  of  Brampton  near 
Wath  ;  also  a  Nicholas,  who  in  1584  married  one  of  the  co-heirs 
of  Wombwell  of  Synocliffe,  an  esquire's  family,  and  had  Thomas 
of  Shepherd's  Castle  in  Peniston,  gent.,  and  Edward,  who  was 
in  the  household  of  Sir  Horace  Vere.  This  Thomas  sold  Shep- 
herd's Castle.  Some  part  of  his  family  went  to  the  West  Indies, 
while  others  retnained  at  Peniston. 

'  Another  part  of  the  family  was  seated. at  a  place  call  Water- 
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AFPBHDIX. 

Hall,  near  the  charch  of  Peniston,  where  was  living  a  John 
Wordsworth  in  the  22  Henry  YIU.,  and  a  William  Wordsworth, 
in  6  Elinbeth.  After  him  was  a  Ralph  Wordsworth  of  Water- 
Hall,  who  was  huried  Aug.  14,  1663.  This  branch  of  the 
family  possessed  eonsiderable  property  in  Peniston,  at  Swath- 
Hall  near  Wonborough,  at  Sheffield,  and  finally  became  enriched 
by  suoeessfol  oommeree  in  London,  by  some  of  the  younger 
branches,  particularly  Josias  of  Mincing  Lane,  a  director  of  the 
East  India  Company,  who  died  in  1736,  and  Samnel  who  died  in 
1774.  The  fortune  of  this  famOy  centred  in  Josias  Wordsworth 
of  Sevenscore  in  Kent,  who  made  considerable  purchases  at 
Peniston  and  also  at  Wadworth,  which  descended  to  his  two 
daughters  and  co-heirs,  Lady  Kent  and  Mrs.  Verelst,  the  lady  of 
a  former  governor-general  of  Bengal. 

'  Other  branches  of  the  family  were  seated  at  Brook-House,  at 
Monk-Bretton,  at  Falthwaite,  which  is  a  small  hamlet  situated  in 
the  valley  beneath  the  eminence  on  which  stands  Wentworth 
Castle,  the  seat  of  the  late  Earl  of  Strafford,  and  now  of  Mr. 
Vernon  Wentworth ;  and  it  is  from  this  branch  that  I  conceive 
year  own  family  to  have  sprung,  because  I  find  a  Richard 
Wordsworth,  described  as  of  Normanton,  gentleman,  in  1693, 
selling  land  called  Wraith-House,  which  had  belonged  to  the 
Wordsworths  of  Falthwaite. 


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APFBNDIX. 


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464  APPENDIX. 

It  would  probably  be  easy  to  connect  the  existing  family  with  the 
aboTe  pedigree  ;  but  all  that  I  am  at  present  able  to  say  is,  that 
there  are  two  or  three  notices  of  the  name  in  a  pedigree  of  Fairel 
of  Normanton,  compiled  by  Brooke,  the  Somerset  herald,  which 
I  saw  some  months  ago  at  the  Herald's  College. 

*  One  thing  more  occurs  to  me,  as  having  been  a  subject  of 
oonyersation  on  that  most  agreeable  morning  which  I  spent  at 
Rydal  —  the  Arms.  I  mentioned  the  probability  that  they  were 
assumed  out  of  some  kind  of  regard  to  the  family  of  Oxspring, 
who  were  the  lords  of  Oxspring  (a  township  of  the  parish  of 
Peniston),  and  bore  three  church  bells.  I  still  think  this  prob- 
able, as  I  find  two  instruments  which  relate  to  transactions 
between  the  two  families ;  one,  a  declaration  made  by  William 
Wordsworth,  the  vicar,  that  William  Oxspring,  Esq.  had  en- 
feoffed him  and  another  in  certain  lands  at  Cubley,  14  Edward 
IV. ;  and  the  other  in  3  Edward  IV.,  by  which  William  Words- 
worth, and  John  Wordsworth  senior,  convey  to  William  Oxspring 
and  Elizabeth  his  wife  a  tenement  in  Thurlston  called  Orme- 
thwaite. 

'  After  leaving  Ambleside  I  spent  a  short  time  in  the  Keswick 
country,  and  afterwards  a  few  days  very  agreeably  at  Mr.  Pol- 
lard's and  Mr.  Marshall's.  I  have  not  been  long  returned  to  my 
home ;  and  I  am  happy  while  fulfilling  my  promise,  in  having  the 
opportunity  of  assuring  you  that  I  retain  a  recollection  of  your 
kindness,  and  that  I  am,  with  the  truest  respect, 
*  Dear  Sir, 
*  Your  obliged  and  faithful, 

*  Joseph  Hunter.' 

•  Bath,  January  27,  1838. 
*  Dear  Sir, 

*  I  should  not  have  given  you  the  trouble  of  this  letter  had  I 
not  found  a  paper  which  had  been  mislaid,  containing  memoranda 
of  deeds  of  Wordsworth  and  other  families  respecting  lands  at 
Faith waite  and  other  places  in  the  neighbourhood.  And,  aa 
these  are  the  basis  of  evidence  on  which  the  most  important  of 
the  statements  in  my  former  letters  rest,  I  am  desirous  that  yoa 

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APP£MI»X.  465 

■hould  possess  the  evidence  on  which  the  pedigree  in  my  first 

letter  is  for  the  most  part  founded. 

1663.  Dec.  33.  Indenture  between  William  Wordsworth  of 
Falthwaite  on  the  first  pert,  and  Samuel  Savile  of  Mexborough, 
gent.,  and  Thomas  Morton  of  Spout-House,  gent.,  on  the  other 
part.  Whereas  Francis  Morton,  of  Wrath-House,  and  Grace 
his  wife,  late  wife  of  William  Wordsworth,  deceased,  and 
Ridiard  Wordsworth,  an  infant,  by  the  said  Francis  Morton 
bis  guardian,  and  grandchild  of  the  aforesaid  William,  ob- 
tained a  decree  in  chancery,  on  Nov.  18,  last  past,  against  the 
said  William  Wordsworth,  Richard  Leake,  and  Mary  Armi- 
tage,  that  they  should  convey  lands  to  the  use  of  the  said 
Hichard  Wordsworth,  a  former  deed  to  that  purpose  having 
been  lost  in  the  civil  wars,  William  now  conveys  to  the  said 
Richard  his  grandson,  lands  at  Falthwaite,  Stainborough,  &c. 

1665.  April  10.  Will  of  William  Wordsworth  of  Falthwaite, 
yeoman.  To  be  buried  in  the  parish  church  of  Silkston,  with 
my  predecessors.  To  my  daughter,  Priscilla  Ragney,  three 
closes  in  Barnesley.  To  my  son,  Thomas,  a  messuage  in 
Bamesley,  &c.  To  my  daughter,  Susan  Bingley,  10/.  over 
her  marriage  portion.  To  my  grandchild,  Mary  Cross,  5L 
Sister  Dorothy  Woodhead.  Cousin  Elizabeth  Frances  of 
York.  To  my  brother  Lionel  Wordsworth's  daughter's  child. 
Cousins  Gervas,  Anne,  "knd  George  Woodhead.  Cousin  Mary 
Tilney.    Son  Thomas  to  be  executor. 

1666.  Sept.  6.  William  Wordsworth  of  Falthwaite,  gent., 
makes  his  trusty  and  well-beloved  friends,  John  Wordsworth, 
of  Swathe-Hall,  gent.,  Ambrose  Wordsworth,  of  Scholey- 
Hill,  in  the  township  of  Peniston,  gent ,  and  Henry  Ragney, 
of  Darfield,  gent,  his  attomies,  to  perform  certain  things. 

'  The  above  notes  are  from  the  original  instruments  which  I 
saw  in  the  possession  of  Henry  Bower,  Esq.,  of  Doncaster, 
whose  mother  was  a  co-heir  of  the  Ragneys,  who  are  named  in 
them. 

*  There  was  an  earlier  deed,  dated  30th  Jan.  14  Car.  I.,  by 
which  Frauds  Binns,  of  Graysborough,  yeoman,  conveys  four 
doses  to  William  Wordsworth,  of  Fahhwaite,  gent. 

'  Falthwaite  is  a  member  of  the  parish  of  Silkston,  where  is  a 

VOL.  I.  30  r  I 

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466  APPENDIX.    * 

fine  old  cbuicb,  the  mother  church  of  a  large  extent  of  comtiy 
in  the  Wapentake  of  Staincroea,  West  Riding.  In  this  chaxeh 
is  a  monumeDt  with  the  following  inscription : 

'  MemoriaB  Sacrum  Ricrardi  Cvdworth,  gen.  In  oboro 
hajuace  ecclesie  jacent  relliqaie  Rich.  Cudworth  de  Eastfield, 
gen.  cujus  proavi  k  Paulino  de  Eaatfield  per  400  annos  ibidem 
floruerunt,  donee  tres  filie  coheredes  et  soperstites  in  alias  fii- 
miliaa  nomen  et  hsreditatem  transtulemnt.  Ex  Susanni  filiA 
Tbo.  Binns  de  Thorpe  quinqoe  suacepit  liberos,  et  eornm  binas 
(Richardi,  viz.  filii  unici  et  Susannas  filiarum  natu  maxiroae)  vidit 
exequias,  ceterorum  nuptias  :  nam  Gratiam  dispoeuit  in  matrimo- 
nium  Jo.  Ellison,  nuptam  postek  Will.  Wadsworth  ;  et  postremo 
Fran.  Morton ;  Martham  in  connubium  dedit  Samneli  Savile  de 
Mexborough,  gent,  et  Annam  Nat.  Johnson  de  Pontefracto  Med- 
icine Doctori.  Post  tedium  longe  invalirndinis  animam  exhala- 
irit,  placidd  in  Domino  quiescens,  etatis  sae  62,  aanoqne  Christi 
1657.  TJt  restet  aliquid  de  eo  quod  futurum  seeulum  cognoecat, 
hoc  (uti  pusillum  pii  animi  testimonium)  liberi  ejus  merentee  pro 
charissimo  illorum  parente  posuere  monumentam.  Lector,  ut  in 
aetemum  vivas,  disce  mori.' 

'  I  add  the  foUowing  extract  horn  the  parish  register  of  Silk- 
ston : 

1556,  Jan.  1,  bap.  Godfray  Waddysworth.    Sponsors  Mr.  God- 
frey Borvile,  Richard  Kaye,  and  Anne  Tempest.* 
1561,  Dec.  14,  sep.  Jane,  Jone,  John,  and  Francis  Wadysworth. 
1589,  Jan.  16,  nupt.  Will.  Wordysworth  and  Margaret  Cud- 
worth. 

1592,  Sept.  4,  sep.  Will.  Wordesworth,  of  Wellhousej  in  Silkston. 

1593,  March  25,  bap.  Agnes,  fil.  Galfridi  WardsWorth  de  Noble- 
thorpe. 

1595,  May  26,  bap.  Isabel,  fil.  Galf.  Wardesworth. 

1595,  Jan.  18,  bap.  Richard,  son  of  William  Wardesworth,  of 

Wrath-House.      Richard  Wardesworth,  grandfather  of  the 

child,  one  of  the  sponsors. 
1507,  April  30,  sep.  filia  Wil.  Wardesworth  de  Wrath-Hoose.      • 
1600,  Dec.  28,  bap.  Helen,  fil.  Godf.  Wardsworth  de  Noble- 

thorpe. 
1600,  Feb.  15,  bap.  Dorothy,  d.  of  Wm.  Wardsworth  de  Wiith- 

Hoose. 

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•  ^ppsNDiz.  467 

1603,  Nov.  18,  sep.  uxor  Wil.  Wardeswoith  de  Noblethorpe. 
1605,  July  4,  sep.  Wil.  Wardesworth  de  Noblethorpe. 
1609,  Jan.  4,  sep.  Anth.  Wordsworth  de  Fawghthwaite. 
1611,  Dec.  3,  sep.  Alice,  uxor.   Ric.   Wordsworth  de  Faw- 
tbwaite. 

1616,  May  7,  bap.  Wil.  fil.  Wil.  Wardsworth  de  Fawthwaite. 

1617,  Dec.  25,  sep.  Wil.  Wordsworth  de  Faughthwaite. 
1617,  Jan.  1,  sep.  Richard  Wordsworth  de  Faughthwaite. 
1622,  May  26,  bap.  Rob.  fil.  Wil.  Wordsworth  de  Fawthwaite. 
1625,  July  10,  bap.  Priscilla,  fil.  Wil.  Wordsworth  de  Faw- 
thwaite. 

1627,  Aug.  12,  bap.  Adam,  son  of  W.  W.  of  Stainborough. 

1627,  Oct.  18,  bap.  John,  son  of  John  Wordsworth  of  Carlcow- 
ton. 

1629,  Jan.  25,  bap.  Tho.,  son  of  Wil.  Wordsworth,  of  Fal- 
thwaite.    % 

1632,  Mar.  13,  nupt.  Ambrose  Wordsworth  and  Eliz.  Hurst. 

1636,  Aug.  14,  bap.  Richard,  son  of  Wm.  W.  of  Falthwaite. 

1582,  Aug.  11,  nupt.  Wil.  Wordsworth  and  Helen  Crosland. 

1594,  June  1,  sep.  Helen,  uxor  Wil.  Wordsworth. 

1689,  Jan.  14,  sep.  Wil.,  fil.  Godf.  Wordsworth. 

1590,  Apr.  17,  sep.  Joan,  fil.  Wil.  Wordsworth. 

1597,  Not.  29,  sep.  Dionis,  fil.  Godf.  Wordsworth  de  Noble- 
thorpe. 

1655,  Not.  22,  mar.  John  Mokeson  and  Jane  Wordsworth, 
before  Wil.  Beckwith,  Esq.,  Justice  of  the  Peace. 

1G68,  Nov.  30,  mar.  John  Wordsworth  and  Anne  Burdett. 

1679,  Sep.  5,  bap.  Eliz.  d.  of  Mr.  Richard  Wordsworth. 

1680,  Jan.  11,  bap.  Susan,  d.  of  Mr.  Ric.  W.  of  Falthwaite. 
1683,  May  27,  bap.  William,  son  of  ditto. 

1685,  Jan.  19,  bap.  Thomas,  son  of  ditto. 
1658,  Apr.  16,  bur.  Wil.  Wordsworth  of  Wtaith-House,  in  the 
parish  of  Peniston, 

1665,  Apr.  14,  bur.  Richard,  son  of  Mr.  Wil.  Wordsworth  of 
Fawfelt.  ^ 

1666,  Mar.  6,  bur.  Wm.  Wordsworth  of  Fawthwaite. 

1667,  Aug.  29,  bur.  Elizah.  Wordsworth  of  Peniston  parish. 
1679,  Sep.  1,  bur.  John  Wordsworth. 

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486  APPBNMX*    * 

<  I  hare  probaUy  not  all  the  entries  of  the  B«ine  in  the  fMiriah 
register  of  Silkston ;  but  those  now  transcribed  will  supply  dates, 
and  suggest  proba^Iities,  should  the  pursuit  be  further  eoteied 
upon.  It  is  unfortunate  that  the  early  registers  of  Peoistoa  are 
lost. 

*  I  shall  be  happy  if  this  documentary  matter  is  aeeeptable  to 
you;  and  remain, 

*  My  dear  Sir, 
'  Tour  very  faithful  and  obedieni 

^  Joseph  Hunter.' 

The  following  notices  are  extracted  firom  the  '  History  of  tihe 
Deanery  of  Doncaster,'  by  the  Rev.  Joseph  Hunter. 

*  The  Wordsworths  first  appear  at  Peniston  in  the  reign  of  Ed- 
ward ni. ;  and  from  that  reign,  no  name  appears  moie  frequently 
as  witnesses  or  principals  in  deeds  relating  to  thii^parish,  or  in 
connection  with  parochial  affairs.  One  of  the  ftmily  in  the  reign 
of  Henry  YIH.  adopted  a  singular,  but,  as  it  has  proved,  a  securs 
method  of  recording  some  of  the  early  generations  of  his  pedi- 
gree. On  one  of  those  large  oak  presses,  which  are  to  be  seen 
in  some  of  the  old  houses  in  the  country,  he  carved  an  insoip- 
tion.^ 

*  It  would  seem  from  this,  as  if  they  had  been  brought  to 
Peniston  by  the  marriage  of  the  daughter  and  heir  of  William 
Proctor,  of  Peniston,  whero  it  is  a  little  uncertain  whether  Pr0C» 
tor  is  to  be  read  as  a  proper  name,  or  that  William  was  &e 
proctor  of  Peniston,  under  the  parties  to  whom  the  rectory  was 
appropriated. 

*  Ralph  was  the  son  and  heir  of  William,  and  from  him,  I 
helieve,  descended  Nicholas  Wordsworth,  of  the  house  called 
Shepherd's  Castle,  who  married  one  of  the  co-heirs  of  Womb- 
well,  of  Thuudercliffe  Grange,  by  whom  he  had  several  sons,  of 
whom  Thomas,  the  eldest,  sold  Shepherd's  Castle  to  Shaw,  the 
vicar  of  Rotherham ;  and  Edward  was  in  the  service  of  Sir 
Horatio  Vere. 

'  But  there  were  many  other  branches  of  the  &mily ;  and  it 

*  See  it  inserted  in  the  preceding  letter,  p.  461.  • 

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•      APPENDIX.  469 

would  not  now  be  easy  to  show  how  they  shot  off  from  the  main 
stock.  The  Wordsworths  were  at  Water-Hall,  an  ancient  man- 
sion at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  on  which  stand  the  church  and  town, 
and  in  a  bend  of  the  D^,  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VHL,  when 
lived  a  John  Wordsworth  of  that  place,  and  in  the  reign  of  EHjb- 
abeth  a  William  Wordsworth.  From  him,  doubtless,  descended 
Ralph  Wordsworth,  of  Water-Hall,  who  died  in  1663,  the  hus- 
band of  the  co-heir  of  Micklethwaite. 

*  From  him  descended,  in  the  fourth  degree,  Josiah  Words- 
worth, who  purchased  Wad  worth,  having  had  a  great  accession 
of  fortune  from  his  cousin,  Samuel  Wordsworth,  a  London 
nerchant,  son  of  Elias  Wordsworth,  a  mercer  of  Sheffield.  Mr. 
Wordswoith  of  Wadworth  had  two  daughters,  Lady  Kent  and 
Mrs.  Yerelst,  his  co-heirs. 

*  The  Wordsworths  have  used  for  arms  three  chuxeh  bells, 
which  seem  |p  be  borrowed  from  those  of  Oxspring. 

*  I  have  not  seen  by  which  of  the  Foljambes  the  manor  of 
Peniston  was  alienated,  nor  the  precise  period  when  the  alien- 
ation took  place.  Brooke  says  that  it  was  inherited  by  the 
Copleys,  of  Netherball,  in  Doncaster,  and  the  Wordsworths  of 
Water-Hall,  in  Peniston,  in  right  of  two  sisters,  co-heirs,  who 
must  have  been  the  two  daughters  of  Richard  Micklethwaite,  of 
Swathe-Hall,  in  Worsborough,  married  to  Elrahurst  and  Words- 
worth ;  and,  further,  that  the  Copleys  sold  their  share  of  the 
manor  in  1750  to  the  Wordsworths. 

*  From  the  branch  of  this  family  of  Wordsworth,  which  wm 
planted  at  Faith waite,  near  Stainborough,  spring  the  two  broth* 
ers,  Dr.  Christopher  Wordsworth,  Master  of  Trinity  College, 
Cambridge,  and  William  Wordsworth,  the  Poet.' 

On  a  brass  in  the  chancel  floor  of  Betch worth  church,  near 
Dorking,  in  the  county  of  Surrey,  is  the  following  inscription : 

Hie  jacet  Dns  Willmus  Wordysworth,  quondam  Vidarius 
faujus  'Ecclesise,  qui  obiit  v^<>  die  Januarii,  Anno  Dni 
MCCCCCXZX^I^    Cujus  Anime  ppcietur  Deus.    Amen. 

I  have  been  favoured  with  the  following  communication  by 
Captain  Robinson,  R.  N.,  of  Ambleside,  which  may  serve  as 
supplementary  to  the  documents  supplied  by  Mr.  Hunter ; 

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470  JIFPBNDIX 

To  the  Rev,  Dr.  Wordsworth,  Rydal  Mount. 

'Afnbleside,  July  18l4,  1850. 
*  Dear  Dr.  Wordsworth, 
*  According  to  your  wish,  T  sit  down  to  give  yoa  the  best 
account  I  can  of  the  family  of  Wordsworth  since  their  residence 

in  the  counties  of  Cumberland  and  Westmoreland 

My  knowledge  is  derived  principally  from  conversations  with  my 
maternal  uncles  (the  Myers') ;  their  knowledge  was  derived 
from  your  eldest  uncle,  Richard  Wordsworth,  then  of  Staple's  Inn, 
who,  I  believe,  took  considerable  pains  to  verify,  by  exandnatioii 
of  parish  registers,  all  the  traditions  respecting  his  fiunily. 
.  .  .  .  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  the  conjecture  of  the 
Rev.  Joseph  Hunter,  the  county  historian,  that  your  branch  of 
the  Wordsworths  was  planted  at  Falthwaite,  near  Stainborough, 
is  correct.  The  circumstance  which  brought  them  to  Westmore- 
land is  reported  to  be  this :  The  father  of  the  Richard  Words- 
worth, whose  name  is  at  the  head  of  the  pedigree  herewith  sent^ 
was  married,  at  a  very  early  age,  by  his  guardian  to  his  daughter, 
which  father,  entering  into  some  speculations  in  coal-mines,  in- 
duced his  son-in-law  to  be  bound  for  him.  These  speculations 
failing,  the  son-in-law  was  obliged  to  part  with  his  estate. 
Richard  Wordsworth  came  into  Westmoreland  early  in  the 
eighteeenth  century,  and  there,  most  probably,  in  consequence  of 
the  connection  of  the  Wordsworths  with  the  family  of  the  Blands 
of  Kappax,  and  with  the  Lowtheis  of  Swillington,  he  became 
the  general  superintendent  of  the  estates  of  the  Lowthers,  of 
Lowther.  Shortly  ailer  his  marriage  he  purchased  the  estate  of 
Sockbridge.  At  the  time  of  the  Rebellion  of  1745  he  was  the 
receiver-general  of  the  county.  Sockbridge  was  not  far  from 
the  public  road  ;  and,  not  wishing  that  the  public  money  should 
fall  into  the  hands  of  the  rebels,  he,  both  upon  the  advance 
and  retreat  of  the  rebels,  retired,  attended  by  a  trusty  servant, 
with  his  money-bags  into  some  retired  glen  about  Paterdale, 
leaving  his  wife  in  charge  of  the  house,  who  was  accustomed  to 
prepare  a  plentiful  house  upon  these  occasions,  thinking  that  a 
good  repast  was  the  surest  way  to  insure  good,  treatment  from 

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APPENDIX.  471 

tbem.  I  may  add,  that  the  house  at  Sockbridge  was  built  by  a 
yeoman,  who  is  supposed  to  hsKVe  found  some  treasure  left  upon 
the  retreat  of  the  rebels  in  the  previous  rebellion  of  1715.  .  . 
At  bis  death  it  was  bought  by  our  great-grandfather.  He  (Rich- 
ard Wordsworth)  died  circa  1762,  and  was  buried  in  Barton 
church  :  there  is  a  brass  monument  placed  to  his  memory,  which 
brass,  being  transposed  out  of  its  place  at  the  repair  of  the 
church,  was  restored,  and  deposited  over  his  tomb  by  my  mother 
in  1826.  His  w^idow,  after  her  husband's  death,  retired  to 
Whitehaven,  and  lived  with  her  eldest  son,  the  collector  of  that 
port  (leaving  Sockbridge  as  a  residence  for  your  grandfather). 
She  died  in  1770,  and  was  buried  in  St.  Nicholas'  churchyard  in 
that  place.  I  have  now  given  to  you  my  recollection  of  the  con- 
Yersations  which  I  have  had  with  my  uncles  respecting  the 
Wordsworths.  I  add  a  table  of  pedigree,  to  make  my  account 
more  clear ;  and  remain, 

*  Dear  Dr.  Wordsworth, 

'  Most  truly  and  affectionately  yours, 

*  Charles  Robinson*' 


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472 


APPENDIX. 


fttoBASD  WosDswosm, »  1Ca»t  loBiMtOfr,  born  1700, 
died  17(iS,  and  bartod  In         dui^iter  of  John  Robinsoo, 


Barton    Churoh,   Wesl- 


BicHARO  WoRDSwoBn,  col- 
lector of  the  ciutons  of 
the  port  of  Whitehaven  ; 
nuurried  Klisabech  Favell, 
diuiithter  of  Redman  Fa- 
veil,  of  Nonnanton,  in  the 
county  of  York  i  had  !•- 
■ne: 

I.  &1CBAUI,  bom  175ft,  at 
Monnanton,  in  the  county 
•r  York.  Attomey-at- 
Law.  Married  Bfary  Scott 
of  Branthwaite,  In  the 
county  at  Cumberland) 
}^^^  inue : 

1.  Makt,  married,  flrat, 
Captain  William  Peake, 
R.  N. ;  aecondly,  William 
K  Smith,  purser,  B.  N.; 
baa  issue : 

(1.)  Wo  1(08 WORTH  Smith, 

(8.)M4RT  e(MITH. 

2.  JosBPH.  In  the  Hon- 
onraMe  East  India  Com- 
pany's Marine 

a.  JoBX,  died  181B,  8  P. 

4.  DoRoiHY,  married  to 
Benson  Harrison,  Esq-  of 
Oreen  Bank,  and  has  is- 
•ue: 

n.)  MiTTHaw    BsNsoir 
Harrison  ;  married  Cath- 
erine Day. 
(2)  Wordsworth  Bar* 

RI80N. 

(3.)  DoROTHT  Harriboit, 
married  Kev.  John  Bol- 
land. 
(4.)  Richard  Harrison. 
(5.)  John  HARRiBON,died 
1849,  iE  15. 
n.  John,  bom  at  Norman- 
ton,  1754    Captain  in  the 
Ilonournble    East    India 
Company's  Marine.   Mar- 
ried, first,  Anne  Oale  of 
Whitehaven }     secondly, 
Elizabeth    LitUedale,    of 
the  said  place  ;  died  with- 
out issue,  1820,  at  Pen- 
rith. 

III.  Jambs.  In  the  CivU 
Service,  Bengal    Married 

there, ;  died  without 

issue. 

IV.  Favell.  In  the  Civil 
Service,  Madras.  Died 
without  issue,  at  Cal- 
cutta. 

V.  KoBi.fflON,  bom  1775. 
Collector  of  the  Customs 
of  the  Port  of  Harwich. 
Had  issue. 


of  Appleby  Com.,  West- 
moreland. Died  at  White- 
haven, 1770,  and  intetred 
at  St  Nichobw'churehyard, 
at  tbat  place. 


I 


John  Wordbworth,  of 
Sockbridge,  Westmore- 
land, and  Cockermouth, 
Cumberland;  bom  No- 
vember. 1741 ;  married 
Anne  Oookson,  daughter 
of  William  Cookson,  of 
Penrith  *,  had  Issue : 

I.  RicHARj>,  bom  17ii8.  Is- 
sue: 

1.  Jowr,  bom  1815 ;  died 
at  Ambleside,  184t{. 

n.  WiLU AM,  born  April  7, 
1770  ;  married  Bfary  Hut- 
chinson, of  Penrith,  1802 1 
died  April  83d,  1850.  Is- 
sue: 

1.  JOHH. 

2.  UOROTHY. 

3.  WiLUAM. 

m.  DoROTHV,  bom  Dee. 
25,  1771.    Living,  April, 

IV.  John,  bom  1772.  Com- 
mander of  the  Honourar 
ble  East  India  Company's 
ship  *The  Earl  of  Aber- 
gavenny* Drowned  olT 
Weymouth  in  conunand 
of  that  ship,  1805. 

V.  Christophbr,  D.  D., 
Master  of  Trinity  CoUege, 
Cambridge,  and  Rector  of 
Uckflekl,  Sussex.  Bom 
1774;  died  1846.  Had 
issue : 

1.  John.  Fellow  of  Trin- 
ity College,  Cambridge. 
Died  1839. 

2.  Oharlbb.  Warden  of 
Trinity  College,  Glenal- 
mond,  Perthshire- 

S.   CHRlSTtPHBR,    D.     D., 

Canon  of  Westminster. 


AmNB  WoRDBWORTir,  BBBI^ 

ried  the  Reverend  Thomas 
Myers,  LL.  B.  of  the 
Brow,  Barton,  Westmore- 
land, and  Vicar  of  Laa- 
onby,  Cumberlaml,  17(>3 } 
and  had  issue : . 
I.  Thomas  Mtbrb,  Ao- 
countant-Genoral  of  Ben- 
gal, bom  17H4  *,  married 
the  lady  Mary,  ehlest 
daughter  at  Henry,  Sec- 
ond Eari  of  Abetgaveittiy, 
and  has  issue : 
TboMAS,  and  MartCath- 

BRI!«B  MySRB. 

n.  Mart  Mtbrb,  married, 
1787,  Hugh  Bobinaon, 
Captain,  R.  N.,  and  haa 
Issue  living  (1850): 

1.  CHARLB8. 

2.  Mart  Annh,  matried 
Rev.  W.  H  Dixon. 

8.  John.    In  Holy  Orders. 
4.  Hbmrt.      Attom^-ai- 

Law. 
m.  John  Mtbrb.  Barris- 
ter-at-Law.  Married  Ra- 
chel Bridge,  of  Dover 
Court,  near  Harwich,  and 
had  issue : 

JOLIA     R^CHBL    MrSBB, 

bom  1811. 


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Wordsworth's  Poems. 


WORDSWORTH'S  POETICAL  WORKS.  In  seven 
▼olnmes  foolscap  Svo,  price  35s.  cloth. 

WORDSWORTH'S  POETICAL  WORKS.  In  six  pocket 
Yolames,  price  21i.  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  gilt  edges. 

WORDSWORTH'S  POETICAL  WORKS.  In  one  vol- 
nme  medium  Svo,  price  20s.  cloth,  or  36s.  elegantly  bound  in 
morocco. 

WORDSWORTH'S  PRELUDE ;  OR,  GROWTH  OF 
A  POETS  MIND.  An  Autobioghafhicaj.  Poem.  In  one  vol- 
ume demy  Svo,  price  14s.  cloth. 

WORDSWORTH'S  EXCURSION.  A  Poem.  In  one 
volume  foolscap  Svo,  price  6s.  cloth. 

SELECT  PIECES  FROM  THE  POEMS  OF  WIL- 
LIAM  WORDSWORTH.  In  one  volume,  illustrated  by  Wood- 
cuts, price  6s.  6d,  cloth,  gilt  edges. 

Edward  Moxon,  Dover  St.,  London. 


THE  COMPLETE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  WIL- 
LIAM WORDSWORTH :  Edited  by  Henry  Reed,  Professor  of 
English  Literature  in  the  University  of  Pennsylvania.  In  one 
Volume,  Octavo,  illustrated  with  an  Engraving  from  Chantrey's 
bust  of  Wordsworth,  and  with  an  Engraving  of  a  picture  of 
Rydal-Mount.  —  Tboutman  &  Hates,  193  Market  Street,  Phil- 
adelphia.    1851. 

POEMS  from  the  Poetical  Works  of  Wordsworth,  selected 
by  Henry  Reed,  in  one  pocket  volume. —  Leavitt  &  Co.,  New 
York. 


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